Sleepless in Iraq Over Again
by Elenimou
Summary: This is a redo of first chapter of Sleepless in Iraq which did not make it to the main page of FF/JE. Hopefully this will. Also I had to put this on the super screen to see the booboos in the first go-round. Story are a few episodes in Ranger's life, two are pre-Babe, third, unknown.
1. Chapter 1

Sleepless in Iraq Over Again

I'm reposting this because once I put it on a larger monitor, I saw some booboos. Also once again I failed to get the story posted on the main FF/JE page. So trying again…..

No Babe here. This is a look at several episodes in Ranger's life before, during and after the Army. Main character is a woman, a female version of Ranger? You decide.

Of course Ranger, et al belong to JE. I enjoy getting them out of Trenton from time to time.

 **Chapter One: Uncle Manoso**

"Cathy, I didn't realize you were heading to town! You want to join us?"

I didn't want to spend my 24 hour leave playing tourist in New York City. I was born and raised in the Hamptons and couldn't get excited about ferry rides and bar hopping. "I have business to attend, sorry guys."

"Business? Yeah, right," Todd snickered. "What's his name? You are awfully dressed up for business."

I've never particularly liked Todd James but he just took a nose dive in my popularity book. Todd was raised somewhere in north Texas where the idea of dressing up was kicking the bull shit off your boots.

I looked down at my attire. From the bottom up I was wearing 4 inch heels which made me 6'4". Todd barely made it to 5'10". Maybe I intimidated him with my extra height. I was wearing hosiery, maybe seeing shaved, not seeing hairy legs bothered him. My skirt was above my knee, I thought demurely for business. My blouse was a camisole, nothing special and the jacket was short. It was my one and only civilian outfit so had to serve a multitude of duties.

"Father's death. I have to deal with the estate, bills must be paid, "I answered. My father had recently died after surviving my mother for 9 years. As an only child the family inheritance was now mine. Just how much the inheritance I had no clue and surely no business of my fellow West Point cadets.

Once we reached the city we opted for the subway. I was going down to the financial district, others were going to museums, and we soon went our separate ways. The subway didn't bother me. Granted it didn't have the marble floors, pillars, chandeliers, and workers icons of Russia's subways. At first glance their elaborate subways seem to be a throwback to the Czar era except most were built long past the revolution and just before World War II. I was in New York where the walls were tile, the floors cement or tile and the stairs urine soaked. The transit authority tried to keep ahead of the graffiti but wasn't always successful.

As I rode under the streets of Manhattan I was remembering the last time I saw Fernando Manoso. It was at my parent's house in the Hamptons. My parents were having a late summer beach party before I was being shipped off to private school. Puberty, my puberty, was difficult for my mother. Her idea of a young lady didn't jive with mine. I preferred blue jeans and halter tops, she preferred more lady like apparel. She insisted I take ballet lessons and I acquiesced if allowed to take karate as well. I never argued about the piano lessons; I loved music. I smiled at what her reaction would have been when I announced my intentions to go to West Point. If she wasn't already dead, that would have done it.

My mind returned to Fernando Manoso. He was often a guest in our home and he and Daddy were best friends. Mr. Manoso was younger than my father but greatly resembled him. At first glance one would think they were brothers. My father was taller but both had dark hair, Daddy's was wavy, Mr. Manosos' straight. They had similar Latino skin tones and deep chocolate eyes. Party day Mr. Manoso was dressed, like most other men in tan pants and a white linen shirt, but his clothes fit so much better than it did other men. His chest was broad and his stomach flat, waist slender. I was 12 and only newly noting when men took care of their bodies and those who didn't.

As the elevator raised high into the sky I smiled as I remembered dancing with Mr. Manoso on the outdoor dance floor. He moved like a panther, smooth and long stride. He was careful not to hold me too close but his hand on my back directly my movements as if I were plastered to his body. He refused to dance the tango with me. "That's a dance for adults." Watching him dance the tango with other women I immediately saw what he meant. I didn't understand the word sensual, but at 12 I knew it looked...special.

The elevator doors opened directly into a reception area. One gentleman was at the reception desk; after all it was Saturday. The rest of the offices appeared to be empty. A few people could be seen scurrying about.

"Ms. Catherine Castillo to see Mr. Fernando Manoso. "

"Yes ma'am," the receptionist replied and I was lead to two massive walnuts doors. We paused at the outside desk while a very lovely blonde woman spoke into a phone, set it down and said, "You may go in."

The door opened into a large office with several floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline. The gentleman behind the desk was just getting to his feet. "Catherine" was all he said but his eyes showed surprise. The last time he saw me, 9 years ago, I was 4 inches shorter, struggling with puberty and my hair in a ponytail. Mother Nature had been kind to me, I was now 6 feet tall, curved but the Academy had also trimmed and tightened me up. At the academy I wore my long hair in a bun, but today I let it flow over my shoulders. It was wavy like my father's.

"Mr. Manoso, it is a pleasure to see you after all these years." The years had been kind to him. His hair was still dark. The only face lines were the crinkles around his eyes. As he came around the desk with the same panther like movement, I noticed his clothes still fit very well. In place of the linen shirt and tan trousers he was wearing a very expensive Italian suit, white shirt and plain warm tone tie.

"Catherine, I'm so sorry I missed your father's funeral. I was in China and couldn't get back in time," he said and he swept me into a hug and kissed my cheek. In my heels I was two inches taller. I made a note to myself, next time, shorter heels.

"He died quickly and caught everyone off guard. Thank you for the sentiments. You were his best friend."

"When was the last time I saw you."

"About 9 years ago, either at Momma's funeral or the summer beach party before her passing."

"You have become a lovely woman, Catherine. Congratulations on your appointment to West Point. Your father was so proud. May I ask why you chose to go there and not a traditional college? "

"Like Radcliffe, Smith or Harvard?" I smiled. "I'm not your typical girl. I'm much more at home sitting in a Long Island duck blind at dawn or on the trail of elk in the Rockies than I am at a cotillion or shopping in Paris."

"Yes, you were always a tomboy. You made your father proud and drove your mother crazy."

"I found boys and their toys a lot more fun to play with...and still do." That felt so sexy. I was remembering Fernando dancing the tango and wondered if I was now old enough.

He laughed but his eyes were intense.

After discussing investments, portfolios, tax shelters, I knew I'd never be a financier like my father, the whole thing left me cold. But it was my money now and I needed to be responsible about it.

When we were done, Fernando asked, "What else is on your agenda today?"

"I have a standing room only ticket for the Met opera matinee this afternoon. All the seats were sold but I do want to see the performance."

"I'm surprised a young woman like you enjoys the opera."

"Mr. Manoso, I've alwasy preferred classical and jazz to modern music. In particular I love well trained voices, the drama, music..." I think I sighed.

"I have season tickets to the Met, perhaps you'd do me the honor of attending a performance with me some time."

I gasped, "You mean I could actually sit down. I would love to attend a performance with you."

"Do you have plans for New Year's Eve?"

"No, I've been avoiding thinking about Winter Break. The house will be lonely without Poppa."

"Then do me the honor of accompanying me to the Gala."

A big smile crossed my face, "Of course." I shivered to myself, oh my gosh, the Gala!

I had no interest in buying a new outfit for the Gala but knew what I had back home was out of style or likely too large. I bit the bullet and spent a portion of my Christmas break at Sak's and a large chuck of my monthly stipend. The dress was too revealing, the shoes too tall, the handbag outrageously expensive and the wrap was one of my mother's. I also needed new underwear; opera Gala underwear is not the same cadet's wear. With the first try my hair behaved and was swept upright into a loose pile a top my head held in place with a single jeweled comb. Make up was sultry eyes, sexy but conservative lipstick. When the costume was complete, I didn't recognize myself.

I knew I hit a home run when I saw Fernando's expression as he helped me into his transportation to Lincoln Center. "My dear, I hardly recognized you."

I blushed. "I had the same thoughts." Maybe my mother was right, I needed to dress more like a woman.

Dinner with Fernando took me back to family dinners in the city; fine dining with too many forks and wine glasses. Dancing with Fernando accompanied by the Met orchestra was a heady experience. We later moved to a Latino club where I finally was able to dance the tango and bachata with Fernando. The sexual tension between us was thick. I knew we'd end up in bed together. Yes he was old enough to be my father...if he started to breed in his early teens.

I was a little tipsy, too much champagne, but welcoming in the New Year did call for a bit of fine French champagne. We held hands like teenagers during the ride back to his condo and in the elevator he held me close and kissed my neck.

It didn't take us long to get to the bedroom and undressed, at least it didn't take him long to undress me. We giggled, he sang with a lovely baritone voice. I helped him undress and was delighted to find what lay underneath was still trim, taught and standing at attention. I wanted to salute.

To one who's experience with boys was mostly quickies than controlled long love making, I was thrilled to be with a man who knew many more ways to satisfy a woman. As we lay completely spent together on his bed, I heard breathing other than ours.

"Fernando, somebody is in the room with us," I whispered in his ear. He rolled over casually and reached behind the bed side table and pulled out a 9 mm. At the same time all the lights came on. There in the chair next to the walk in closet door sat a young man who looked a lot like Fernando.

"What the hell are you doing here Carlos?"

The young man, about my age, apparently high on something smirked, "Watching the show, Tio."

"How long have you been here?"

"I've been here the whole time. You got some good moves man, but then look at the bitch, I wouldn't mind a making her scream with delight too."

Fernando was already on his feet, the gun was left by the bedside table. When Fernando got in front of the boy, the boy remarked, "Are all us Manoso men hung like this." Before he could smirk or smile, Fernando grabbed him by the jacket front, lifted him to his feet and punched his gut and face. The boy tried to fight back but never laid a hand on Fernando. Carlos was no match for Fernando.

In the mean time I slipped out of bed and began dressing. I was horrified knowing our activities had been observed by his nephew who was now getting the crap beat out of him. This was a family fight and I didn't want to be around.

Fernando moved his nephew from the bedroom to the bathroom where he was washing the blood off the boy and assessing the damage. Fernando stopped when he saw me dressed, "I'm very sorry about this Catherine. He's been in and out of trouble for some time. I'd like to make it up to you."

"Leave won't be granted for a while, but I'd very much like to get together Fernando. I stepped over to him and kissed him on the lips trying hard to avoid the blood on Carlos' face and Fernando's hands.

As I left I thought I heard Fernando tell his nephew, "Carlos, you get straight or I'm going to kill you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 Sleepless in Iraq Over Again**

First mission with Captain Carlos Manoso. Not a happy go lucky romance story.

* * *

It wasn't long after Desert Storm, Saddam had been kicked back into Iraq and wishful thinking thought he would behave himself and pull his country back together. Instead he used his usual hard handed rule by going after the Kurds on the north, the Shi'ites in the south and harassing the coalition in the No Fly zone. By 2003 we were back in the country having told Saddam to get lost, he didn't and now we were trying to find him and at the same time deal with a rapidly fracturing country. Iraq was beginning to feel like loosing cause.

For the next 8 years Iraqis of all religions died, of all Islamic sects died, coalition forces died, but some people got rich. Opportunists knew there was money to be made. Intel coming in indicated someone within the US Army was supplying arms to outsiders. Who these outside forces were depended upon the region; Al Qaeda in the west in Anbar province, Shias in the south around Basra, Kurds to the north…whoever wanted to fight, arms were found. Russia was a major supplier but American entrepreneurs weren't about to be left out.

I finally had a beam on who their leaders were and the suspected US Army members supplying them. Unfortunately I ran out of time.

I was told to report to Colonel Nichols and when I relayed my concerns to him with the skimpy proof I was immediately dismissed with great vitriol. He could not believe someone in the US military was purposely supply arms to the rebels, insurgents, whatever you wanted to call them. He was convinced the blame lay with the many private contractors that worked in conjunction with us.

My orders came soon after the discussion with Colonel Nichols…..more like an ass chewing than discussion. I stood at attention at my commanding officer's desk. "You will interview a tribal chieftain, Amir Almarta. He has information on this leak. You will be accompanied by only one Special Forces Ranger officer, enter the area under darkness by a night drop. The two of you will travel as husband and wife in tribal clothing."

"That's it?" I asked my commander.

"What you need engraved orders?" He stormed.

"No sir, but I'd like to know the exit method."

He looked at me with a blank face and inside my blank face I was asking, "You do have an exit strategy and what are my bargaining chips?"

He stormed, "Major even a lonely lieutenant would know to get back to Kirkuk for transport."

That was it, I was going in without anything to barter, exchange, and basically I was going in naked. Oh it was just getting better and better. The whole operation smelled fishy. Jumps here were silly and unnecessary and a night drop into mountainous territory was just crazy. Going in with an officer was also nuts. Normally I'd go with a Special Forces non-com. Maybe none was available. Heck, I'd go in with retired General Schwarzkopf if it got the job done.

I met my Special Forces companion, Captain Carlos Manoso and immediately recognized him as Fernando's nephew. He looked just like his uncle. Fortunately Manoso didn't recognize me from New Year's in his uncle's apartment some years before. Once again I wondered why Manoso? Was this more than a simple interview with a tribal chieftain or was Manoso on some shit assignment for punishment? Or was it something else I would not like at all? I let it drop.

We read our orders. "This mission isn't right," Manoso said.

"Tell me about it. The odor is worse than a pig sty in July," was my reply. I planned to keep him out of why we were going on our little journey. I had that inkling I was being set up, possibly by Nichols or a member of his staff including my commander. If I was killed and Manoso survived, not knowing the nitty gritty might keep him out of the profiteer's cross-hairs.

Training together didn't happen. After reading the orders that was the last I saw of my partner. When I mentioned his absence in briefings to Col. Nichols, I was told Manoso was highly trained and didn't need a refresher course. Now I began to wonder if Manoso was there to protect me or to make sure I didn't survive.

My doubts were so great I expressed my concerns in a private memo to my Sargent, Ben Carson. His loyalty was beyond question. It was a simple "if I don't make it back alive" note. I gave him copies of my research and the warning it should not go to Nichols and very well hidden as more than likely all my work would be destroyed…conveniently.

Loaded down with our gear and communications, Manoso and I waddled aboard the C-140. Soon after takeoff, the flight became a carnival ride from hell as the weather turned on us. We lurched; shook and I seriously wondered if the aircraft would fall apart. Fortunately the C-140 is built like a tank.

C140s are cargo aircraft, no tourist windows; if there had been I might have caught glimpses of the stars or far off mountains to know if we were headed in the right direction. But there was no peeking outside.

When the jump order didn't come on time I looked at the jump master. "Head wind, we've lost time." Quite the contrary, this time of year winds should be pushing us to our target zone faster.

The aircraft banked and the weather got worse, if possible. Soon after the standby to jump light can on. The weather was far below safe jump parameters, the jump master should be calling this off, but he wasn't.

"No way," I protested. The master reached inside his vest and pulled out his .45. The load master also pulled his .45.

"You will leave this aircraft. It doesn't matter if you are living or not when you leave." Damn, I wish he was from the South where you and y'all are more definitive. Was it just me or was Manoso also being ordered off?

I stood and grabbed onto the overhead support to keep from being thrown around the bay. Manoso was right behind me. When the ramp lowered, it was a maelstrom from hell; wind howling, dark, sand blasting into the aircraft. Jumping into that guaranteed the chute would collapse or one would be sand blasted to death.

I looked at Manoso and indicated I didn't have a plan. I raised an eyebrow silently asking if he did.

"Major, three choices stay and get shot then thrown out, stay and get blown up by the explosives in the upper rack, or off the ramp." He never said "we" and I still wasn't sure he was with me or them.

My eyes strayed upward and I saw the C4 and detonator. "Well fuck," I said. What a choice: shot, blown up or jumping into certain death. None sounded promising. Turning I waddled to the ramp, prayed a might prayer to every Guardian angel within a 200 mile radius and jumped into the night. The green "jump now" light hadn't yet come on. We were still at hold. Did it matter? The wind hit me like a sledge hammer; I had no clue which direction I was facing.

Every rule in the book about landing, first lowering your gear to avoid falling onto it, etc. was impossible. Visibility was near zero; often I could not see the altimeter on my pack. I had no clue if my chute was deployed, collapsing, or torn. There was no time for real fear, I was more concerned about smothering in all the blowing sand than crashing into the ground below. All I could do was stay loose for impact or risk turning my legs into splinters. Of course if my chute was damaged in any way, it wouldn't matter, I'd be a broken open bag of mush when I impacted at terminal velocity. I knew in the back of my brain that was exactly somebody's plan. I was Intel, not Special forces plus I was a woman. The Army still considered us nuisances or total incompetents out in the field.

The impact wasn't land gently and roll. I was slammed to the ground and immediately dragged across the ground. I survived the jump, now my life would end by being dragged across the ground, torn to shreds and broken into pieces. Eventually I was able to release my chute and it went into the wind, to China's for all I knew.

I was alive, in one piece more or less and thoroughly bruised, battered and sand blasted. As for Manoso, if he didn't jump did he disarm the bomb? If he jumped there was no telling how far the wind had separated us, providing his chute remained intact.

Right now I needed to assess my equipment. It was evident it had taken the brunt of the force. Cases were broken open, electronics were in pieces. The satellite phone was nothing more than a battery and broken parts. As I shuffled through the ruin I found what appeared to be a GPS device. It wasn't supposed to be there. Other equipment also had tracking chips. Why was I being monitored and by whom? Thinking about this whole mission, I felt I knew.

Several larger boulders provided partial protection from the wind and I began going through my equipment and clothes for more tracking devices. One was found inside my helmet, another GPS and inside my vest. I looked at my boots, surely not. As I used my Kbar to peel off the sole, I heard someone coming. Were all these GPS devices bringing the enemy to me? The wind was still brutal and sounds were difficult to trace, but there was someone or something out there. I had my rifle at my shoulder as I scanned. For a brief moment I saw him, it was Manoso in stealth mode, searching. He found where I had landed and the remains of some of the electronics. He squatted down and tried to peer down wind. I whistled, his head turned slightly in my direction. I whistled again and he started my way. He too held his rifle at the ready as he scanned the area.

He said nothing as he crawled into the depression between the larger rocks. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, his .45 in his hand. My .45 was also in my hand. Neither of us fired. I figured if he was going to shoot me, he would have done so immediately, but I didn't lower my gun. He looked at me wondering if I was going to shoot him. Finally he shook his head no and put his weapon back in his holster. I lowered mine as well. He looked at me to see if I was injured, then scrunched his eyes wondering why I was barefoot, without my helmet and my vest was torn open. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the tracking devices. His eyes showed surprise. Was he surprised I found them or did he truly not know they were there?

He immediately began searching is equipment and after another hour we found several more devices in his clothes and equipment. "As soon as this storm ends, they'll be coming after us," he said.

"Us or me?" I asked.

"Us". I left it at that.

"They won't look too hard if we are dead," I replied.

He gave me a questioning look.

"During a lull in the wind I saw the terrain down wind. I looks like Bryce Canyon in Utah, very rugged wind carved spires. I don't remember this one's name but I suspect we were expected to land there and be killed or severely injured. Being injured in there we'd be sitting ducks to an attack. I'm pretty sure my chute is in there, somewhere. Now we need to add more," indicating the tracking devices and broken electronics.

"I don't remember a canyon in the briefing," he said.

I was curious what briefing he had, it was not with me. "Because we are far south of Baghdad, near Saudi Arabia, nowhere near Kirkuk.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, the sand storm intensity gave it away. This is a desert sandstorm, not one you'd find in the northeast mountains. I saw this canyon a year or so ago when looking into Sadr's actions down here," I answered.

"They intended to drop us into the canyon, but your jumping early, before the "go" light kept us out," he said.

"You must have been right behind me."

"Major, my orders were to stay close."

"Why?" I asked.

He didn't answer. "They'll come for us when the storm ends. We'd best create our diversions now." he said.

We discarded everything but the basics for survival; all broken equipment, my ACU jacket and his pants; we kept some of our tribal clothing. We needed decoys. We scrambled into the canyon and using the clothing and broken equipment made what appeared to be a human dead among the rock spires and smashed equipment smashed. Manoso's parachute was stuffed into nearby crevices after being partially shredded. My chute was in the canyon somewhere.

As daylight crept in we had climbed back out of the canyon and dug ourselves in under rocks to hide our heat signatures leaving only small openings for observation. Three hours after sunrise we heard the vehicles; three of them. The occupants were a rag tag group, mostly in tribal clothes but their vehicles had .50 cal. machine guns mounted on the top. They went to the edge of the canyon and began searching with their binoculars. One pointed to the southeast and the others began looking.

"Please don't go down," I whispered.

They used a device to track the GPS. Suddenly they became excited pointing to where Carlos had used the uniform and rocks to replicate a broken body caught in a narrow cleft. The .50 cal. rifle barked as it strafed the body.

Not long after a helicopter was heard. An AH64 Apache helicopter circled the canyon looking for movement or heat signatures. Soon it moved off.

The rebels pulled way back, taking refuge behind large rocks just as Manoso and I were hidden.

"This doesn't look good," Manoso remarked. About the time we could discern jet engine noise, the canyon was turned into a flaming pit. An incendiary bomb, Mark 77 had been dropped. The air around us was extremely hot and reeked of kerosene and benzene. We were well away from the canyon but for a while the heat was unbearable...and that was with solid rocks protecting us from the direct blast.

The canyon burned for a while but when it died down the rebels took one last look and left.

"You burned?" Manoso asked.

"No, how about you?"

He shook his head no.

I my mind I went through the UN Conventions on the use, actually non-use of incendiaries. Somebody's ass, maybe Nichols, would be fried...a pun fully intended. A little dark humor was necessary for sanity.

Mark 77s were used in Gulf War I and were supposedly eliminated from the US arsenal. Yeah right, just on paper. Who had so much pull as to use an Apache and a fixed wing bomber jet to hunt down and kill to us? I wondered if I'd live to find out.

The rebels loitered for about an hour and then left. I hoped Carlos Manoso and I were officially dead. Now we needed to figure out how to survive.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 The trek**

* * *

We waited until sunset when the general temperatures would drop from thermonuclear to just plain hellish. We had water, if we were careful we could go four days. The question was where to go? Who could we trust? We needed to put the cremated canyon far behind us least the rebels make a return visit. East was the canyon but beyond were Basra and Shia strongholds. West was more desert. North was back into population and the rebels. South was Saudi Arabia which did have a major highway running near the northern border. Southeast was Kuwait. They were less trigger happy than the rebels. Kuwait won by default. There was still no guarantee we wouldn't be turned immediately back to the Army and tried as deserts or worse, but hopefully someone in Kuwait will listen to us first. What sane people would chose to be in Al Muthanne Provence and not As Sulaymaniyah where water is more readily available? We surely did not hijak the aircraft for a little walk-about through endless sand and dirt.

Between us and Kuwait was a heck of a lot of open land, some tough terrain in parts, a few oil rigs, pumping stations, and one highway. The highway would be dangerous. We couldn't exactly stand there with our thumbs up in the air. If by some miracle we make it to Kuwait City, who do we go to? Chances are we'll die of thirst or sun stroke long before we need to make that decision.

Traveling by night kept us from the intense heat. Aircraft lights and noise gave us plenty of warning so we could dig in to avoid detection. The nights were cold, the exercise kept us warm. Shelter wasn't always available during the day so we'd scratch out a depressing so our prone bodies were less visible, but the sun and heat were intense.

After a few days our water situation became critical. We had been moving towards a pipe line pump station that had a guard shack. After hours of observation we detected a routine for the guards.

Manoso said, "I'll go in and refill. If things get dicey, create a diversion out here." What did he want me to do, stand naked in the sun?

I watched his movements, they so reminded me of his uncle Fernando I almost wept. Was this genetic? Can one get a panther-like gene? Fortunately I didn't need to create a diversion. I did not ask if he had to kill any guards.

After another three days march I stopped and sniffed the air, "I smell goat."

"You don't smell much better," Manoso uttered.

"Sounds like Uncle Fernando needs to beat the crap out of you again Manoso; plus I out rank your sorry stinky ass, show respect."

Manoso's eyes got hard. His face was a rock. No reading his body language. Remind me never to play poker with this guy, if we survive this holiday. 'Yeah, I didn't think you recognized me. You were higher than a kite that night."

We sat in silence. I had no idea what he was thinking but I hoped, like me it was ideas on how to get out of this hell hole and not about the New Year's debacle years before. When the wind shifted again I said, "I still smell roasting goat." We set off.

A small caravan had stopped for the night. The group was comprised of about a dozen adults, equal number of children and several trucks.

"Bedouin most likely," I uttered. "Bedouin _jinsiye._...those without a country, no papers," I explained. Like papers would do them any good, I mused to myself. They were refugees with no home country. They'd be killed in Iraq or settled into refugee camps in Kuwait without a chance of gaining legal status.

We were three days without food and the water was getting critical again. "Think they want company?" I asked.

He looked at me like I was nuts, "We aren't that desperate. We could steal water."

"That's an instant death sentence. If we ask, they can't refuse. Code of the desert," I answered.

"Seriously major, you think they adhere to Bedouin traditions these days?" He paused, "Ah hell, they'll probably shoot us first anyway."

I was dressed as modestly as possible with a long skirt over my ACU pants, long sleeve shirt, over garment and hijab over my head and shoulders. I had an extra scarf if I needed to make a pseudo niqab. Manoso had on his uniform shirt but wore loose fitting tribal pants.

Two rifles were pointed at us as we became visible. Our hands were held high as were our weapons. Seeing a woman with an M16 probably was a surprise. They'd find a few other weapons if they looked under my skirt.

"We mean you no harm. We are trying to get to Kuwait." I said in Arabic. I hoped they didn't speak some tribal language, my Arabic was OK.

"Women don't speak..." the younger man started but not wanting to play with this sexist baloney I quickly inserted, "They do if the man doesn't speak Arabic." I forgot to ask Manoso if he spoke Arabic.

"Who are you," the younger man asked. Curious the older men were standing back letting this younger man do the talking.

"US Army. I'm Major Castillo, this is Captain Manoso."

"A woman officer?" They were horrified. "How do we know you are a woman?"

"No hair," as I rubbed my face. "Have your wives search me. I'm not disrobing in front of men."

After assuring their husbands and brothers I was indeed a woman I was returned to the men.

"Why are you here?"

"We have become separated from our company." I was not going to tell them we got pushed out of an airplane against our will. "The rebels around Al Bandar have forced us south." Once again I wasn't telling them we had no intention of even trying to breach the rebel line. If that made us cowards, then fine, I'd grow chicken feathers.

"You deserters?" An older man asked.

It was time to come clean, sorta. "No. I found several in the Army are in collusion with the rebels for profit. US armaments-guns, ammunition, grenades- are ending up being used by our enemies. I can't speak if I'm dead. Someone is trying to make that happen."

"What about him?" They asked referring to Manoso.

"He was sent to kill me if the rebels couldn't, but our own military tried to kill him too. He decided he'd like to live." I looked at Manoso and he had a strange look on his face. How much Arabic did he understand? Did he know what I just told them? How close was I to being right? Was he to have been my assassin?

We must have passed some test as we were offered water and a bit of goat. Both were delicious.

"What do you want?" An elderly man asked Manoso. I waited to see if he would answer. He remained passive and turned to me.

"This is it. If you have spare water we'll be on your way." I answered.

"You are walking to Kuwait?"

"We've been walking from Al Bandar," I replied.

It was a weak story and I wouldn't blame them if they shot us and continued on. Instead after much discussion we were invited to join them. They probably wanted us to help protect them on their journey. Two more rifles doubled their defense. Once the Kuwait military or police showed up their rifles would have to disappear, quickly. The border wasn't far off, maybe 30 miles after we crossed the main highway. The east west highway carried oil and other materials from the seaport and oil refineries around Basra. Though sparsely traveled it was still difficult to get across as visibility was near limitless in this area unless you crossed in a sand storm.

Passage was slow, roads were a suggestion. There was no "Welcome to Kuwait" sign, Howard Johnsons or any defining mark; especially for us as we stuck to the back...trails.

We stopped for a few hours rest. Tarps were thrown over the vehicles to camouflage their presence and provide a bit of shade. Perimeter lookouts and those of us with rifles were posted around the camp.

Manoso brought me kefir and flat bread, "Why do you think I was sent to kill you?"

"You understood what I was saying?"

"Your Arabic is better than mine and I remind you, I'm a lowly Captain."

"I'm still not convinced which side you are on." He looked and me without emotion, I was waiting for a little apology.

I decided to continue, "After your first declaration of concern about the mission, you disappeared. I figured you knew the mission would fail, perhaps you were sent to make it fail. Either you had your own exit plan or you were on a suicide mission."

"You had to leave the aircraft," he said unapologetically. "I was there to make sure you jumped."

"Into a Force 5 storm?" I hissed. I had no idea the intensity of the storm but it seemed severe enough. "You were going to kill an Army officer?"

"Not me, the jump master. The storm saved your life, our lives."

"OK, I'm not going to play guessing games, tell me what was really going on Captain."

He started, "You were going to Amir Almarta for some reason, I don't know what. My assignment was to kill Amir Almarta."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It's what I do."

He's a specialist, wonderful. "What about me?" I asked.

"You were my way into his camp."

I got that part. Did you have an exit plan?"

"Improvise to Karkuk or to Bashur Air Base. You were a diversion for the men. While they were interested in you, I'd kill Almarta," he stated plainly without emotion.

"Seriously?" I asked. "What if I had been injured?"

He shrugged. "I guess I'd have to carry your sorry stinking ass out of there. I wasn't keen on you being bait. That's why I thought the whole plan stunk."

OK, that made up for the cut about Fernando and the roasting goat. I wanted to ask what he'd do if I was too badly injured but I didn't because I immediately turned it around and asked what I'd do if he was too injured to move. I didn't like the answer.

He watched me think. He's probably been in the situation before, but it was new to me.

I moved on, "What about the explosives?"

"Since it didn't explode while we were there, I don't believe we were the intended target. I suspect the air crew was, assuming there was a blast after we left."

I agreed. "Probably the air crew was transporting military equipment to the rebels. Maybe they got greedy; stole from one side or both. Either the person or persons on our side providing the materials or the rebels decided to eliminate them."

I wondered if just one crew was involved in shipments and how their actions and perhaps actions of others remained unnoticed. I wasn't a forensic accountant. I caught the overall operations, but who ever came after me…if someone came after me….I hoped they had a better feel for numbers and could follow shipment redistribution, new shipping labels, creative accounting.

Manoso seemed to have some extra sense to know when my brain quit spinning, maybe the smoke ceased coming out of my ears. "So who do you think ordered the aircraft to fly south, not northeast?" He asked.

Good question. "I'm thinking it was the air crew themselves. That way I wouldn't make it to Almarta, you wouldn't kill him and who would look for us down here in Al Muthanne Provence?"

I sat and thought for a while. Who wanted Amir Almarta dead?

"Who gave you the order to kill Almarta?" I asked Manoso.

He sat for a while and then answered, "Petersen, Special Ops."

"Is he your usual contact?"

"Yes, mostly him. He sent me to Nichols."

Did you know the name Almarta before you came to Nichols?

"Yes."

My mind went back to the air crew. If the air crew was stealing from Nichols, did he have the air crew eliminated? That would make sense. So if Amir was working with Nichols, then my elimination made sense, but why send Manoso? Assuming there someone higher up than Nichols involved, Nichols was double crossing the higher ups?

My mind was spinning but suddenly I saw upright. I saw something in the air cargo plane, other than the explosives, it was in the upper rack, somewhat hidden. It was a box of grenades, what did the box say? Kuwait. Was someone in Kuwait supplying weapons north into Iraq for sales? If the aircraft did explode, where was it? Did someone, like Nichols, plan for it to be up in As Sulaymaniyah Provence but did the flight crew continue south into Saudi Arabia or Kuwait for another pick up? If the plane did explode south, we, Manoso and I, may not be tried at deserters after all.

Manoso sat and watched me think. "You are smiling?"

"Assuming the aircraft exploded soon after we left, how will its location be explained? The wreckage will be seriously off course. Also I saw a crate of grenades with Kuwait labels. They won't survive the explosion but does open up the question how large is this operation?"

"Do you know who is selling on our side?" He asked.

I have my suspicions, but not the whole structure. I think it goes much farther, probably up to the stars." (Meaning general officers) "I'm purposely not telling you what's going on to keep your butt out of the fire."

"I'd say my butt is well toasted already."

"I'm sorry."

* * *

Sounds carry through the desert; we could hear traffic from the main road to Kuwait several miles to the east. But this new sound was from the west, from the desert. I wasn't the only one who heard it. Quickly the women and children fled to the east leaving the men to protect the camp. The goats tried to follow the children but were tied to the trucks. The rest of the men had hand guns, joined Manoso and me in the rocks attempting to drive off the invaders. Unfortunately we were four rifles and several handguns against a dune buggy with two guys armed with a grenade launcher and heavier truck with a .50 cal gun mounted on the reinforced roof and unknown number of men inside the truck, perhaps eight to ten, probably armed at least with rifles, or worse. We were out gunned.

"Who are these men?" I asked one of the Beduoins.

"Vultures, they prey on whomever or whatever they can find. They will take the women and children and anything else of value," he spat.

My priority was to disable the vehicles and at least put the invaders on foot out in the open. When one of my shots hit a tire and caused the dune buggy to roll over, my worth went up in the camp. For a while we were holding our own.

When the grenades started falling, the tide turned back to the invaders. The camp was being destroyed. The Bedouin trucks disappeared in a flash causing a great plume of black smoke to ascend into the sky. Grenades were decimating the camp. Fortunately we were hidden by the rocks and were whittling down the rebel numbers as they approached. But then the invaders decided to destroy the rocks where we were hiding.

A rocket fired grenade found Manoso's position and I watched in horror as the rocks above tumbled down on him, completely burying him. We couldn't go help him and I had no time to mourn, I was still fighting for my life. The number of rebels was down to just several but only the same number on our side. It was mutual destruction. I saw the RPG pointed at me. I lunged but the grenade landed near me and I was further flung through the air. I was barely conscious but felt my handgun by my side. Through partially opened eyes I watched one rebel walk up to me, handgun in hand. He was distracted by my camo covered legs under a woman's skirt. He hesitated and I didn't. Then it was sleep time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 Recovery in Kuwait**

* * *

The burning trucks brought the Kuwait border patrol to investigate. One Bedouin man survived though badly injure. Most of the women and children survived as they ran from the camp. Disabling the vehicles prevented the invaders from going after the women and children. The only women killed where two elderly ones too infirmed to run. They died along with the goats when the trucks exploded.

I woke up in a hospital intensive care unit. I felt like a science experiment with all the tubes and electronics devices attached to me. I had no idea of I still had two legs and arms as I was drugged higher than Carlos Manoso was many New Years ago. How could I face Fernando after getting his nephew killed?

Time meant nothing, there were no windows to watch the sunshine and night, just endless beeps and suction. At some point I was aware a Kuwaiti Colonel was sitting next to me.

"I am Colonel Samaha, Kuwaiti intelligence. I'm here to determine who you are and why you were with Bedouins in my country."

Well, at least I wasn't back in Iraq. My name tag was in the incinerated canyon. Knowing Manoso was dead and my own Army wanted me dead, I faked confusion to keep from identifying myself. It wasn't hard; I could barely indicate "Yes" and "No."

On the third day of interrogation the Colonel forbid pain medication giving my mind a chance to clear. It was truly a rude, but necessary awakening.

"From your camo pants, rifle, and your fitness level, I assume you are US Army. Is that correct?

Yes, I nodded.

"Are you a deserter?"

No, I nodded.

"I have not sent your finger prints to the US Army, is there a reason I should wait?"

YES! My enthusiasm darn near knocked me back unconscious from the pain it brought.

Oh boy did I have a story for him! The doctors said my condition was deteriorating due to infections, my time was limited; I might as well hurry the process along with a death bed confession. From the pain and smell, I didn't think they were lying.

I couldn't talk for the tubes. This would be interesting. He had an iPad and slowly with one finger I pecked out answers.

"Please identify yourself," he asked.

I slowly typed, corrected, and typed my identification.

"Major, why were you with Bedouins?"

"long story…arms theft"

"Who?" He asked.

"i think army officer…s"

"How did you come by this information?" He asked.

"i work intel," I typed.

"How long have you been investigating?"

"5 mos"

"Who is your commander?" He asked.

"no, one may be invol" was all I could type.

"You suspect someone in Intel?"

I nodded yes. For a moment I remembered the Kuwait labeled grenades. Was I talking to someone part of this operation?

"U friend or foe?" I typed.

He read my question and looked at me showing no emotion. The pain was returning big time, I was getting sweaty.

I typed, "They kill me."

He read it. "They tried to kill you?"

I nodded yes

"Who?"

"army" I typed. That was it. I was nauseous from pain, the room spun, and couldn't go on. The doctor came in with the pain meds and I floated off into LaLa land.

The next session, whenever it occurred, the colonel sat down and said, "Major Mitch Jenkins, Lt. Colonel James Wright, Colonel Randolph Nichols, and General Gerald Whittsburg."

I nodded. Those were the officers above me in Intel. I still didn't know if he was friend or foe and was afraid. A tear escaped my eye.

"You are crying, why?"

I tapped the iPad…"fear."

His head tipped, "Fear of what?"

"you, traitors, dying"

He shook his head, "Your life is not in my hands, that belongs to the doctors and Allah, may He be merciful. As for the traitors, it is my job to find them and keep them from you."

I gave him a questioning look.

"We've known for some time armaments are being stolen from us, we have our own ongoing investigation, but have been blocked from further investigation by someone in your Army. We are hoping you will bring us more information."

I wasn't sure it was true, but he was right about dying, it wasn't in my hands either. I might as well go out with an explanation. I nodded I was ready.

Why are you in Kuwait?

I typed, "long story…assign 2 talk 2 amir almata but aircraft flew south." How long ago was that? It seemed like years.

"Why," He asked.

Ask the crew I wanted to say, but couldn't. "maybe crew part of arm deal, eliminate me"

Were you alone?

Cripes, didn't they find Manoso's body? "No, cpt. rc manoso, dead under rocks" I hoped he understood my cryptic typing.

Over the next 2 weeks while I was on a trach-tube my iPad interrogations continued. When unhooked from one tube I was able to speak, barely, but was able to converse. I asked the colonel if he had contacted my superiors. He answer was strange, "We are handling it."

The interrogations went on. There were several surgeries in there and recovery where I received reprieve from questioning. Surely Colonel Samaha thought the whole deal was something out of a James Patterson novel. I expected Army MPs would have me shackled to my bed any day now. Heck, I survived bailing out of the C140 in a sand storm, Al Muthanna, and was blown up by a grenade; I was living on borrowed time anyway.

Six months passed and I was still in Kuwait. I had been moved from the hospital to a palatial rehab facility. I only saw and talked with Kuwaiti staff. They spoke no English so my Arabic was being fined tuned. I saw no other patients. There were no visits from a US ambassador, no military, no military police, nothing. I wasn't sure anybody but Kuwaitis knew I was here and I was in no hurry let anyone know I was alive. At times I wondered if indeed I was alive and not in some transitional place, a rest stop before Hades.

One morning Colonel Samaha came with a US Army Lt. Colonel I recognized from Intel. After a whole day of questions the American Colonel said, "Major, as you've probably figured out by now, you are under protective custody by the Kuwaitis."

"Custody as in I will be arrested?" I asked. "Was I kept alive so you could finish pumping me for information to protecting the traitors and sending me to Leavenworth?" I was mad and began moving towards the windows. "Maybe you would prefer me by the window so your snipers can finish the job."

The Lt. Colonel sighed, "Poor word choices. You are under the care and protection of the Kuwaitis."

Colonel Samaha was on his feet moving towards me. "Please Major Castillo, please sit down," he said as he took my hand. I looked down at his hand and he quickly let go. I believe that was the first time he ever touched me.

The Lt. Colonel continued, "You probably think I came here to return you to Iraq. On the contrary, your investigation and information has been crucial in cleaning up a major armament debacle stretching from Turkey to Kuwait. The information you gave Colonel Samaha months ago allowed Kuwaiti intelligence and us to identify the traitors and dismantle illegal organization. Arrests are in progress. In talking with your doctors, the Colonel here, and other sources who do not wish to be identified, we've decided to declare you unfit for service. Papers will be prepared that upon further medical review of our choosing, you will be given the option of leaving service with a medical discharge. I seriously suggest you take it."

I must have had the "What the Hell" look on my face. This was not how one left the Army. I knew my career was dead, but this was like "dump her out the backdoor."

The American Lt. Colonel continued, "Colonel Nichols, General Whittsburgh, and associates in three countries have been arrested. Your excellent records, though originally destroyed by persons unknown, but restored by Sargent Carson ae allowing investigators to quickly assemble a case including the deaths of Captain Manoso, the C140 flight crew, and you."

I was confused. "Death? I think I'm still alive."

"For a while, until we believe we have identified everybody, it would be better if some think you are gone, at least until the paper work catches up and trials begin."

That could take years, I thought. Would I have to remain here? I didn't want to think about the implications of being declared dead. Would I ever return home? Did I even have a home or is everything in probate?


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 US Marshals**

* * *

The Kuwaitis gave me a stipend until the Army declared me undead. I was grateful they didn't present me with a hospital bill, I didn't expect an allowance too.

I continued to receive rehab in Kuwait as an outpatient for another few months living in a very swank apartment and chauffeur. To pass the time I studied Persian Gulf history in particular Kuwaiti history. One afternoon Colonel Samaha came to visit and noted my reading material on the desk. He was surprised and honored. Two weeks later I had a private audience with the Emir of Kuwait and had the opportunity to thank him personally for my care and accommodations. His reply was to thank me for helping his country.

When the time came to leave Kuwait, I was apprehensive. First I had to testify at the Court Martial. It wasn't pretty. The defense branded me a traitor and deserter. Prosecution presented the other side. I wanted to be done with the whole mess and start a new life. Second, what type of life would I have back home?

Finally my discharge was complete; I was alive and allowed to finish physical and mental rehab at VA Harbor View medical facilities. It was there Bob Simon introduced himself.

"I'm Bob Simon, with US Marshal Service, I'd like to talk to you."

"I'm confused, why would US Marshals be interested in arresting me?" I asked.

He looked at me, "No, I'm here to offer you a job."

Apparently some little fairy whispered in his ear I needed a job, I couldn't continue living on Kuwait stipend forever.

"Do you troll the VA hospitals for new employees? I asked.

"No, I have military friends here and abroad and your name has come up several times."

Physically I was doing quite well. The Kuwaiti doctors and rehab put me back together. Mentally, I had very little PTSD, instead I was super pissed fellow soldiers tried to kill me for their own profit. I was becoming surly at a ripe young age.

I had not returned to the Hamptons and had only sent Fernando a note saying I was alive, deeply sorry for getting Carlos killed, and I needed time.

I agreed to test for the Marshal Service and eventually, when cleared by the VA and government doctors, I became part of Bob Simon's team based in Virginia. In addition to Simon, our team consisted of Antonio Mendez and Ralph Johnson.

The job was mainly bringing in federal fugitives or transporting them from one facility to another. Army Intel gave me the "bloodhound" nose for finding people.

* * *

"Road trip" Antonio called. Our next fugitive was in West Virginia. We loaded up two Suburbans with gear and headed out.

Our research, actually my research, said our fugitive usually drank at the Old Mill bar from 2 pm until 3:30pm. In addition to the bar, the "town" consisted of a diner, gas station, and hardware store. The bank and drug store were about 5 miles further down the road. We had to be careful not to be identified.

Ralph Johnson went into the bar pretending he was lost asking directions to a legitimate location several miles away. While there he quickly observed the occupants and building layout. He left and drove off. He would double back , but remained out of sight while we waited for our fugitive, Benson, to arrive. Using binoculars we recorded and checked on the license plates on all vehicles in the area. One came back as a rental by Vincent Plum Bail Bonds in Trenton, NJ. I called their office.

"This is Connie, how may I help you?"

"My name is Cathy Castillo, US Marshals in Brownbourgh, West Virginia. I have traced a rental car to your agency. We like to know your agent's name and fugitive he or she is pursuing. We don't want to bump heads over the same individual."

"Our man is Ricardo Carlos Manoso seeking Dan Swanson."

"Who?" I gasped.

"Our agent is Ricardo Carlos Manoso, street name Ranger. Six feet of Latino lushness, longer hair pulled back and tied. He often dresses in camo. His FTA is Dan Swanson, age 27, 5'10 inches scruffy longish dirty blonde, usually unshaven, tattoo on his abdomen of a scorpion.

"Carlos Manoso," I whispered. "Former Special Forces?" I'm sure my face blanched.

"Yes, ma'am, do you know him?"

I wanted to scream "He's dead," but instead I mumbled "I believe I met him in the Army."

"You'd remember him. He's hot," said the bail bonds' secretary. I could hear her panting.

When I hung up, Bob had been watching my face. "Is there a problem?"

"Yeah, remember my traveling companion in Kuwait?" Bob knew my "war' stories. "Apparently he didn't die."

"Is that going to be a problem for you?" He asked.

Before I could answer Ralph Johnson joined us, "Benson is already here. He is talking to some Latino in the back."

"Let me guess," I said, "Six feet, long hair tied back, super fit."

"You got it."

"He's a bounty hunter out of New Jersey looking for Dan Swanson, not Benson. I suspect he's pumping Benson for information. Be assured Manoso is carrying." How I sounded so professional when my heart was beating a salsa beat I don't know. But apparently it was enough to convince Bob I was in the correct mind set.

Our apprehension plans were altered with Benson already on site and Manoso present. We considered waiting until either Manoso or Benson walked out. The other option was to go in and contain Manoso and apprehend Benson. We were leaning toward the first when a biker with a Harley CVO Streetglide pulled into the gas station several hundred yards away.

"I've got it," I said and removed my ballistic vest, untucked the blouse, undid a few buttons on the bottom and then tied the shirt ends together baring my abdomen. Yeah, some Kuwait scars were visible. Johnson shuddered when he saw them, but I figured it would play to my character. I undid a two buttons on top exposing my generous bust. Pushing the girls up a bit to increase the cleavage I realized only two buttons held everything in place. YIPES! Taking my hair from the elastic tie, I fluffed it and topped it with WV Mountaineers cap pulled low over my face. My Glock went down the pants in back and I reminded myself not to turn around then sashayed down the road to the gas station.

"I need a favor," I said to the biker.

The biker looked me up one side and down the over, glancing at the scars but lingering over my bust. "For you hot stuff, anything."

"My good for nothing, old man ran off and left me to tend his filthy, stinky goats. I've traced his sorry ass to the bar down there. How about you give me a ride there, rev the bike so he's looking at the front door when I go in and blow his fucking brains out."

He looked me over and smirked, "Where you got your gun sweetie?"

Reaching behind and pulling my Glock out from my jeans, "Here."

His eyes shot up. "Holy cow, that's a big gun! I'll give you a ride and rev the bike but after than I'm gone. If you need to hide, come to my place. About 7 miles down the road, near exact. Road forks, take the left road, then a third of a mile down. The gate is open but I'll know you are coming anyway.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, starting with the cattle guard at the gate, the whole property is monitored."

My eyes danced, "You either making 'shine or you've got people lookin' for ya. Probably both."

He smirked again.

"I'm Candy Baca...seriously, that's the shit name my mama gave me," I said and extended my hand.

"I'm Dan Swanson, Swanee for short. Hope to see you again Sweet Candy."

"I suggest you not call me that again," I scowled as I threw my leg across the back of the Harley and wrapped my left arm around his waist purposely resting my hand just below his belly button just above his Johnson. I wanted his mind distracted. I scooted forward wrapping my thighs around his hips and pushed the Glock against his right kidney, "Just in case you don't stop at the bar."

As promised, we arrived at the bar, I got off and he began revving the engine. Using my left hand I pulled his head towards mine and kissed him, forcing my tongue down this throat as a thank you. My mind flashed on hoof and mouth disease. I was close, he chewed tobacco. When I pulled back he said, "Are you really going to kill him?"

"If I did I'd never get to your place. I'm going in and scare the crap out of him, maybe flatten his balls or castrate him." I reached into my boot and pulled out a blade then returned it to the boot. Swanson wisely roared away. With that I turned, tucked the Glock back down my pants and strode into the bar muttering, "Show Time."

The bar wasn't dark so I could do a quick scan without waiting for my eyes to adjust. I spotted Bob and Antonio at the bar with beer bottles in front of them. Ralph was no doubt at the back door. In the back I saw our fugitive Benson and Manoso seated with his back against the wall. Carlos was dressed in tan canvas pants and a woodland leafy camo shirt. He looked like a hunter. His hair was just long enough to pull into a low tail on his head.

I paused for a moment and then hoping the glare from the sunshine behind me and the cap hid my identity, purposely strode with my long legs towards the back. Half way down I began a tirade at Manoso, "You good for nothing fucking asshole, you left me all alone out there in that shit hole and heat. What the hell was I to do with all those stinking goats?"

By then I was standing beside Manoso. At first he thought I was talking to Benson. When he recognized me his eyes grew slightly larger but his breathing remained controlled. I quickly straddled him and planted my tongue down his throat, far better than Swanee's mouth moments earlier. Manoso's body language was all over the place, surprise, wary, receptive.

When I broke the kiss, my hand was behind him covering his gun, "Relax," I whispered in his ear, I'm a US Marshal here for the guy across the table, not you. I know where Dan Swanson is. Sit tight."

With that I turned back to Benson, "You wouldn't leave me with a bunch of stinky goats would you?"

"No ma'am," he answered but his eyes never left my chest.

"Wanna buy a lady a drink?" I was bent backwards so my girls were trying hard to leave my bra and shirt.

"Yeah" he said. I quickly sat on the table, lifted my feet, swung on my butt to face Benson and then slipped into his lap, straddling him, "Hi, my name is Candy...and if you call me sweet anything I blow your brains out. I'll have what you are drinking." And with that I grabbed the glass in front of him and downed the liquid in several large gulps. I was so in character I didn't realize I had just gulped down about 7 ounces of moonshine, 2000% proof, or so it seemed.

Benson' s eyes were wide open. He expected me to cough or spit the liquid fire back out. By some miracle I was able to keep from vomiting. I shook my head slowly in affirmation which was also a signal to my associates to move in. "May I have another?" I asked. When Benson turned I pinned his arms to his body and waited until my guys could take over the situation and hand cuff the guy. When secure, I pushed myself back onto the table out of the way. As Antonio and Bob perp-walked Benson out, Manoso looked at me, grabbed my hand and led me to the dirtiest bathroom imaginable. He didn't need to tell me to vomit; it came back up immediately along with breakfast and the dinner the night before.

Like Manoso, my hair hadn't grown too long after the Army but I appreciated the hand holding back what I had as well as hanging onto my pants keeping me from tumbling into the toilet. There was no kneeling onto the urine drenched floor. When I was empty, Manoso carefully helped me stand up. I went to the sink and rinsed my mouth several times wondering if I could use soap too. I decided not. When I felt I could stand without falling, I turned and looked into those lovely chocolate eyes. The room began to tilt and he reached out and grabbed my upper arms, "I saw you die," I whispered.

"I was buried but somehow the rocks fell in such a way so as to create just enough open space to survive. I had a few broken bones, concussion. I was unconscious when they pulled me out. They told me you died. What happened to you?

"Grenade. I woke up in a Kuwait hospital. The Kuwaitis kept me under wraps for nine months until the investigation on arms thefts was over. I was doing more rehab here when Bob Simon, the older guy in our team, signed me up with US Marshals."

" _Tio_ Fernando really mourned your passing and when he received your note, he was and still is confused since I didn't die."

"I couldn't face him thinking you were dead. I felt responsible."

We stood looking at each other. I thought about our trek through Iraq. I have no idea what he was thinking about but his eyes were getting softer. I expected a kiss but the bathroom door opened. Bob handed me a couple of breath mints breaking the moment.

"Tell me about Swanson," Manoso asked.

So much for intimate moments, I mused. "Rides a Harley Streetglide, lives seven miles south, road forks, take the left, one third mile. Cattle guard at gate, beware, place is monitored. He said he'll know when someone is coming."

Bob left by the front, Manoso and I left by the rear. As we exited the door, Manoso pulled me into him, "I'm really glad you didn't die."

I smiled, "I'm glad you make it out, too. I gazed at him but only saw his uncle. "Please tell Fernando...I really miss him." And I kissed Carlos on the cheek and left.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6** **Denver**

* * *

A year later Bob decided he had enough of the Marshals and retired. He wanted to move to Colorado and start his own security company. I was asked to join this crazy venture. With only two years with the Marshal's and no great love or hate for the job, I accepted. Truth be told, I had grown fond of Bob and his wife Alice, they were like…parents to me.

I was ten when I first went elk hunting in Colorado's mountains, but opening the hotel curtains and seeing the sun reflecting off Mt. Evans to the west, I was excited for the first time in years. I spent the day driving around Denver, then on to Boulder and the large slanted rocks named the Flatirons, down the central corridor far south to Pikes Peak and back to Denver via a mountain route through the foothills, South Park and once near ghost town now a major ski area, Breckenridge. Such diversity crammed together. I was surprised at the number of people. I thought Colorado would be empty, but the traffic reminded me of the Long Island Expressway. It felt like home, at least on the roads.

The name on the door read Bob Simon Security though I had money invested in this deal. We considered Simon-Castillo Security but figured people would be looking for a Mr. Simon Castillo. I was happy being a silent partner. We located in southern section of the giant metropolitan area where growth was crazy. As the company grew, so did our staff. New employees came mainly from the military or government law enforcement, but we also had a few "brains" to keep us technologically sharp.

One Wednesday morning Bob called me to his office. "Do you remember Carlos Manoso?"

"Yes of course, Kuwait, West Virginia and Fernando's nephew." Bob knew Fernando Manoso took care of my money and suspected there was more to our relationship. He was right.

"Carlos' company, Rangeman, is expanding. He's looking at a silent partnership with us instead of a new Rangeman office here. We need to talk about this."

I knew Carlos had recently expanded his Miami and Trenton based business to include Atlanta and Boston, but was surprised he was interested coming west. There are a few major cities between Denver and Trenton he could have expanded to first. So we talked, negotiated, talked, paid lawyers, and finally decided yes. Rangman became another silent partner.

The money influx allowed us to expand operations further into the Denver market and mountain communities. Also from time to time, we picked up Rangeman's bond skips in the Rocky Mountain area and shipped them back home to Atlanta, Miami, Boston or Trenton. Of course when our skips went east, we had the appropriate Rangeman office round them up.

During one return to New York to visit my money and Fernando, we had dinner with his nephew Carlos. Fernando raised a wine glass in a toast, "Congratulations, you two are partners."

Carlos' eyes got hard, almost like a predator. I had seen those eyes in Iraq. I'd didn't know who is prey was this time, me or Bob Simon Security. Carlos and Fernando were cut from the same cloth, one an older version of the other. Both made me hot; one set me on fire, the other was sexually dangerous and perhaps business dangerous, I wasn't sure. I looked at Carlos, "You make any move at a hostile takeover I'll kill you." I left it as a double entendre.

Ranger's eye crinkled in humor, "Never crossed my mind." Fernando gave his nephew a strange look. Was he remembering the night years ago in the bedroom?

After leaving Fernando's condo the following morning, I planned on a day of shopping. As I opened the door to leave, Carlos was outside, waiting. He was leaning against the far wall, one foot resting on the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing dark trousers, black shirt, and black blazer. If it wasn't for the unshaven face and hair pulled into a pony tail, he'd be hot. I really prefer clean shaven, well-trimmed men.

He walked up to me and tried to pull me into a kiss, but I blocked him, "Oh no you don't, mister," I scolded him.

"You, or actually Bob, didn't give me a chance to reciprocate in West Virginia."

I pushed him back across the hall and slammed him into the wall. He looked surprised I was refusing his advances and taking the offensive. "That was part of the operation, there is nothing between us."

"That's not what your eyes were telling me in the bathroom after you hurled the moonshine."

"I was whirling, you were holding me. I don't know if I saw you or Fernando in those eyes."

"But Iraq..."

I took a deep breath, "What about Iraq? Your assignment was to kill Almarta, there was nothing about me."

"Do you think I was to leave you there?" He asked.

"We did no prior planning, you skipped all briefings. If I had been part of your unit, we would have trained together, known each other's skills, had at least a little camaraderie. You didn't know my skill level because you didn't care. Your job was to kill Almarta; to hell with the woman."

His eyes got hard, "I was told you were expendable."

"And you were fine with that? A fellow officer was to be sacrificed for the sake of a mission. Have you no honor?"

The look I received was somewhat scary, but I wasn't backing down. "When the mission went to hell, we were soldiers trying to survive. Yeah, if we had stopped for the nights instead of the days, I would have been hard pressed to stay away from you...but only to seek warmth, nothing more. Whenever I got any thoughts of getting close you, I remembered the 20 year old SOB in his uncle's apartment watching two people in what should have been a very private time. You are Fernando's nephew, one hell of a soldier, and minority owner of Bob Simon Security, but that's it. "

I pushed off of him, "You really have a dead soul. You'd better be working on your karma mister, because right now it is in serious condition."

I started down the hall. From behind me I heard, "So it's my uncle?"

"Yes. Different universe, it could have been you, but not this one."

A year or so later...

"Cathy, we have a skip out of Miami," Bob spoke through the office intercom system.

"Rangeman?" I asked

"Contraband cowboy, guns, few drugs. They are sending a Marc Manoso."

"Marc Manoso, where does he fit in the family?"

"Cousin. Ranger wants you to work with him, refine his skills."

"We have others who can work with him," I said dismissingly.

"That's what I told Ranger, but he specifically asked that you work with Marc. Ranger said after the Murphy case last year in Pennsylvania, with Lester Santos, he feels you'll take good care of another family member."

I sighed, Lester was a very good soldier/bond apprehension agent but someone needed to castrate that stallion. "Bob, you said 'refine his skills.' What does that mean?"

"Marc is their technical guru down there, but isn't field-savvy. He needs to understand actual field surveillance to refine his technical work. Manoso said to call if you had questions."

You better believe I called him, like immediately.

"Yo," Ranger answered his phone.

"Manoso, what the hell?" I shot back.

"Nice to hear from you Catherine, I didn't think you'd call this quickly."

"So what is really going on?"

"You know me well. I've got a bad feeling about this one. Both Danger and I told Marc not to bail him out as it seemed…off."

"And he did anyway."

"Yeah and the guy rabbited immediately."

"So why me? Between your offices and ours, we have a platoon of military trained apprehension agents."

"As I said, there's an odor that someone with special skills needs to decipher. You are former Intelligence and ferreted out problems others missed. You have advanced 6th sense."

"What are you defining as 6th sense?" I asked.

"Intuition." Ranger answered simply. There's a woman here who has some talent, less than you, but I still never question it."

"A woman? Has Rangman Trenton's bastion of testosterone been breached by estrogen?" I snickered.

"Never mind, back to business," he snapped.

"Intuition occurs only every other Saturdays immediately after a full moon," I joked. "It is more gathering as much info as possible, throw in past history, and human psychology. Finally be slow to for opinions, nothing to it."

"No, there's more and you've got it in spades. You have enough to know what's fishy with this case. I can't pin point it."

"What, a Manoso admitting vulnerability?"

He growled, "Don't let anybody know."

"Send me the files, I'll look at them," I said.

"Check your in box, I sent them when you called."

"Presumptuous ass aren't you? I'll get back to you." And I hung up.

I went through the file twice and called Manoso back.

Instead of a "Yo" I got a "Your opinion so soon, I thought you were slow to form opinions?"

"I read fast. Your FTA has a wide variety of friends and associates. How technical is Marc? Does he have toys?"

"Yeah, a whole array including prototypes," Ranger answered.

"I wish you could send just the toys and not Mark. This has the markings of something…..what did you say, smelly? Send both, I'll try to send Marc home alive."

"Damn, damn, damn," I muttered. I did not like where my "intuition" was running.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 Walden**

* * *

Marc Manoso was 2 inches shorter than Carlos, but the parts weren't quite as perfectly aligned as in Carlos and Fernando. He was still lovely, hot and charming but not Fernando. He was also married with two children. I blanched, "Children? Carlos is out of his mind sending you. Is this some punishment?"

"Carlos and Danger, head of Miami office, told me not to bond this guy out, but I didn't listen. Now I have to come get him. Consequences."

"I'd rather he had taken you to the mats. If you get killed, it is on me? No thanks."

"Carlos said you are the second best apprehension agent."

"And the first would be..."

"Carlos."

"That man has a serious ego problem."

March chuckled, "He does, but he's earned it. He also mentioned you are Uncle Fernando's woman."

My eyes narrowed, "That is between Fernando and me and no business of the family."

Marc backed off, "No offense, most in the family assumes Fernando is gay since he isn't seen with women other than family. Plus he's a great dancer."

"I suspect all Manoso men are great dancers."

"Sure," he shrugged, "he taught us. For years I thought he owned a dance studio or danced on Broadway."

I laughed, "I fell in love with him when I was 12 when I saw him dance the Tango at my family's home."

"So you are an item."

"Yes, since my last year at West Point," I sighed. "You should see my frequent traveler points to New York. But it is strictly secret no family needs to know. I'll kill Ranger next time I see him."

"I wanna watch."

I growled. He laughed.

We traced the skip to Walden Colorado in North Park, a small mountain community in northern Colorado. Cattle ranches, hay fields, small town all surrounded by private and national forest lands. North Park is lovely; mountains, head waters of the North Platte river, ponds, meadows, and mosquitoes. I once heard the mosquitoes in North Park were called turkey fuckers due to their large size. I wasn't arguing.

We found the fugitive's cabin and did a drive by with Marc's toys.

"Yeow!" Marc said. "This place is alive with sensors!"

"Where?" I asked.

"If I were to guess, I'd say everywhere; the perimeters, the road, even the meadow up front. What is he trying to do, keep deer off the property?"

I was thinking more along the line of DEA helicopters, or worse, but kept it to myself. "What's the power source?"

He's on the grid, but he's got several drop lines. Just how often does the power company service these lines? How much he's pulling I can't tell without a look at the line and transformers, but as paranoid as he appears to be, I'd expect you will also find major generators for backup when the rural power goes out. What do you think he's doing?"

I thought for a moment, "Way too many possibilities: drug storage or manufacture is first thought, second is hiding stuff…guns come to mind. After that who knows." I didn't feel saying refining plutonium might be a possibility. Marc wasn't familiar with my sense of humor.

We set up surveillance on a ridge overlooking the property. We could see both the front and much of the back. The sides were heavily wooded. For two days we watched. With Marc's toys we went exploring the perimeters and found very quickly they were heavily monitored with cameras, motion detectors and pressure plates. I didn't think the fugitive was watching wildlife.

"He's got himself a Ft. Knox there," I said.

"Maybe air drop, Marc suggested."

"We'd have to land on the roof like Santa."

Unless this guy is some freak worried about a Zombie invasion, this is far to protected with expensive equipment for a guy wanted for smuggling drugs or arms. There's something else going on. We needed more back up, like a battalion. On the other hand, one or two people might be able to penetrate. Suddenly I wished the Manoso next to me was Carlos, not Marc.

We couldn't identify all the electronics radiating form the property and not knowing if one device could pick up cell phones, I sent Marc into Walden, some miles down the road to find a land line and report to Bob Simon and Manoso what we were finding.

Late on day three or actually early on day four we were ready to move in. I hoped the hole I saw in the security coverage wasn't a trap.

"Step exactly where I step," I told Marc. "There are ground sensors...think land mines without the boom..." I hoped.

We went through the forest taking care to go far in before angling back towards the cabin through a weak section in the electrical defense.

"You ever work with a flash bang Marc?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's part of our training. Illegal as hell but Carlos doesn't care."

"Maybe you can design something that blinds and confuses without waking the neighbors," I offered.

"I've been thinking about it," he answered sincerely.

We entered quickly tossing in the flash-bang but found not one man, but three. We had only seen one man, our fugitive, in our reconnaissance. All three men had been asleep and did not react quickly. Weapons were drawn but we were faster. Marc's FTA was a thinning blonde with a goatee, but the two extra were Middle Eastern. All we had said was "Bond Apprehension" so I immediately I told Marc to only speak Spanish to me and I lowered my voice to mimic a man. Hopefully everyone was too sleepy to note my initial higher voice.

We were totally covered, balaclavas and helmets. Only our eyes were visible. Our ballistic vests read Bond Enforcement/Oficial de Bonos. We immediately hand cuffed all three, though legally it was shaky if I could detain the Middle East guys; no apprehension papers. I didn't gag the Middle Eastern gentlemen hoping they would talk to one another and I could figure out what was happening.

I spoke Spanish to Marc, "Take your man and go back. Call Bob, you can use your cell. Let him know you are coming and he'll meet you. Also call you cousin. Between Bob and Carlos, they will know what I need here. I'll stay. Don't argue, just do it."

I knew the hell storm Marc would incur for leaving me behind. Sorry Marc.

Before the sun rose, Marc and his fugitive were gone. I sat with the two other gentlemen. They tried taking to me in English, I pretended I didn't understand. They only heard Spanish from me and apparently neither spoke the language. They complained to one another about needed to empty their bladders, tough.

I looked around and found the control board and monitors for the security and mumbled surprise in Spanish. I was keeping my voice deep to maintain the deception. I moved around the cabin searching for clues while I listened to them talk to each other in Arabic.

I returned to the control board. I was fairly proficient with electronics but there were things here I had no clue what they were for. There were more circuits than what was needed for perimeter protection. The longer I looked, the more concerned the Arabic speakers became. I shrugged partially put their minds at ease, and somewhat I truly didn't know what some of the items were. This whole thing felt bad, real bad.

I found cable ties in a cabinet which I used to further secure the men's feet to the chairs. I had heard them talk among themselves in Arabic about "the others are coming" and realized I might have unwelcome visitors at some point. Neither man talked much after revealing possible guests, so I decided to gag them. I needed to investigate that circuit board but didn't want them hearing or seeing me. Each had an iPod so I put the buds in their ears, taped them in place, and turned on their devices. For added protection I blind folded them: See, Hear, Speak no Evil and forget about getting out of the chairs. Once they were secure I went back to the control panel and took pictures. I sent the pictures to Hector in Trenton. Maybe he could explain what I had.

Hector called immediately and I answered in Spanish.

" _Explique"_ was all I said.

 _Perimentro de seguridad, deteccion de movimiento, camaras, cerraduras electronias muy sofisticadas._ –Perimeter security, motion detection, cameras, and very sophisticated electronic locks.

The locks surprised me. I wondered where they were; in the overly lazed meadow?

 _Pueden ser desactivados?_ —can they be deactivated? I asked.

 _Muy cuidadosamente_ —very carefully. _Y ventilacion y sensors_ —and ventilation and sensors.

 _Que tipo?_ —what type?

 _No lo se_ —I don't know.

 _Mierda_ I said.

 _Si_

Where was the ventilation, what was inside that ventilation and sensors were required? I didn't like possible scenarios.

Carefully I checked around the house and then gradually moved outward. I watched the ground for any unusual track patterns and examined the 25 foot cut face behind the cabin. I relaxed my eyes and mind and just gazed, not looking for anything in particular but rather something that shouldn't be there. Gradually I saw it. Plant selection was wrong. Mather Nature didn't do this. Also the plants were not naturally placed. Some were together than naturally couldn't occur. Rocks that had been turned when reset. The natural striations in the rock grain ran counter to one another. The smaller gravel wasn't the same type of stone than the rest of the hill. Someone had been working on the cut face. I slowly approached and stopped suddenly. A small metal object protruded from the ground to the side, IR security detector. I raised my rifle scope and set it to read heat signatures. The approach to the hillside was crisscrossed with IR detectors. This explained the extra circuits on the security board indoors. I found free rocks and set a boundary line across the access designating a do not cross line for whoever my boss would send.

Oh geez, I ran back to the security board and found the circuits for the driveway. Whoever would come would probably come barreling down the drive. I doubt Marc's insistence that the drive and all access was monitored would filter down to the cavalry. Two hours later, I was right. HLS came tearing down the road. I stood in the lower road with my hands out to the side but my rifle and handguns still on me.

"Identify yourself," the tall then man demanded as four rifles were pointed in my direction.

"Bail Bonds, I shouted in as much of an accent as I could muster. Then in Spanish I told them I'd rather not give my name.

The person in charge blew out, "Bull Shit! Who here speaks Spanish? Ben?"

"Yes sir," a large darker man stepped forward. As he walked towards me, I smirked behind my balaclava, it was Ben Carson from the Army Intel Iraq years before.

" _Me llamo Benito, hablo espanol."_

I answered in Spanish trying to keep my voice deep like a man's, "Show no emotion Sargent, I am former Major Cathy Castillo, Intel. I'm trying to keep my identity from the assholes up in the cabin. I don't need Homeland blowing my cover."

Ben blinked, "I understand ma'am. Heard you died in Iraq. Nice to see you...sorta...again. What's going on?"

I explained as much as I could until his commander, Stinson, demanded to know what we were talking about.

"Sir, the bond apprehension agent found two Middle East men in the cabin while looking for a fugitive out of Miami. He says this whole property has state of the art security, lasers, IR, CCTV, and pressure sensors which is extreme for someone wanted for contraband. In fact this road may be mined. He has not attempted to deactivate the system as it may be booby-trapped. He suggest bomb detection experts be called in especially for the bridge up ahead."

"That's a bunch of Bull Shit," yelled Stinson. "What the hell does a spic from Miami know about booby-traps?

I looked at Ben for a translation though I perfectly understood. I imagined bomb techs in Miami and elsewhere being offended enough to knock Stinson's block off. When I got the translation I pointed to a nearby tree and the camera hidden and said to Ben in Spanish, "Smile, you are on Candid Camera". I then handed my rifle to Ben with the heat scope and told him to look around. He did and whistled, "Geeez..."

Then turning back to Stinson he exclaimed, "Sir, this place is hot!"

Not wanting to risk the vehicles on the drive, the two vehicles were left and the men began walking, nearly single file up the road to the cabin. At the bridge one man jumped down and reported back, "Yeah, C4 here. Two different detonation devices: pressure and remote."

Everyone suddenly realized the seriousness of the situation, especially me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 Backdoor Company**

* * *

Stinson sent two men ahead to secure the cabin and the occupants. I refused to go inside; I really didn't want any part of this and wanted to be gone ASAP. Before I could express my wishes I saw someone walking toward my rock line. " _Alto, Alto, Alto_." I yelled. Ben was with me as we ran to the line. Using my rifle scope Ben immediately saw the IR lines, "What the fu...?"

In Spanish I said, "I think the rock face is fake, there may be a vault or storage locker in there. The circuit board had several circuits for fancy electronic locks and ventilation. Look at the road in, the ground has been unusually compacted and then raked to look natural again. There may be a pressure plate under here as well. I'd run a metal detector over this before I'd proceed. "

"Captain, what the hell is going on?" Ben asked.

"I don't know and don't want to know. You Feds have a whole arsenal of agencies that can sort this out; I just want to be far, far away."

Stinson appeared and when Ben explained what was suspected the commander responded with his "Bull Shit" retort. He needed to enlarge his vocabulary. I reminded Stinson, through Carson, of what the two men inside had said about coming visitors and suggested guards are posted.

"I don't have the manpower," Stinson complained.

I wasn't asking him to roll out the Welcome Wagon, sheesh.

In Spanish I told Ben about the back door entry from behind this ridge, a perfect stealth entry to the cabin. At least one person needed to be up there watching. Carson translated.

"Show me," Stinson barked.

As we climbed narrow path, I stopped and pointed back to the cabin, front entry, forest sides and the meadow behind. Even Stinson realized the security implications. He seemed nervous for the first time.

"Ben, you and Mr. Tijuana can stay here, watch this entry and report back to me."

" _Senor, me llamo Castillo, no es Tijuana_ ," I said to Stinson.

Ben translated, "His name is Castillo, sir, not Tijuana."

Stinson just looked at me and walked away.

"Mr. Tijuana? Was that an insult? I asked as we watched Stinson make his way back down the hill.

"Sadly yes, but at least your disguise held, Mr. Tijuana," he said jokingly.

"He's a royal jackass. I thought better of Homeland."

"Yeah, he is disappointing. He can't think beyond his own socks."

I "phoned home" once Ben and I were set up over-looking the meadow and roadway, "Bob, I'm still in disguise here. HLS has sent a real jerk. This could turn from bad to catastrophic fast."

"Tell me more," Bob responded.

"HLS in charge is Jack Stinson."

"Oh damn," Bob moaned. Bob rarely swore, this must be bad.

"You know him?" I asked.

"Egotistical SOB, he is stupid as a rock. He's been trying to get to Washington by playing cowboy."

"Dang," I said. I went on to explain what I found, extreme surveillance and probable vault hidden in the hill behind the house, pressure plates, IR, motion detectors, C4 rigged bridge, electronic locks, ventilation and sensors. Also our Middle East guests talked about visitors coming today. Stinson at least put me and Carson on lookout to the most logical entry, a back road."

"Any way you can get out of there?" Bob asked.

"Bob, right now I'd like to be in Australia, far from this. I've got real bad feeling about what's in the vault."

"What are you thinking? Weapons?"

"The place is too heavily protected for gun cache unless it is huge. Why would one need a ventilation system? I'm thinking larger, like WMD's; chemical, biological, radioactive something like that. This is too much security for a meth lab unless it's the mother of all labs. Then the Middle East guys don't fit."

Ben's eyes bugged out.

"Without proof..."

"Bob, the entry road is booby trapped with C4. The controls are inside but the road had a secondary back up detonator. The meadow up front is lazed and probably booby trapped probably to repel approach by foot or helicopter. Side accesses through the forest are the same. We need bomb disposal up here ASAP, I don't think Mr. HLS has called that in. Traffic needs to be blocked at least 10 miles down the road. I need to know where this back road enters and have it blocked. That isn't going to happen with 5 people, including the dingbat in charge. So far there's only one here I think has brains...Ben Carson. He served under me in Iraq. Bob, if you have any clout, get some people up here who know their asses from the brains, I'd like to come home...alive."

"What about the two guys in the cabin?"

"Mr. Homeland will probably turn them loose and apologize without running an ID on them. Government is afraid of lawsuits for unlawful detention. I don't have paper on them. That one is on me. Hope our insurance is paid up."

"You want to be called Castillo when I call in the cavalry?"

"Right now Stinson is calling me Mr. Tijuana, Castillo might confuse him." I paused a moment, "Yeah, keep me as Castillo, no first name."

We waited. Road blocks on the main road were not in place, vehicle traffic continued past the front gate. Ben ran down for more water, but HLS forgot food supplies. MRE would be fine, but there were none. I had a two food bars in my pockets and gave Ben one. "May be all we get until we are relieved and back in Denver. I don't think Stinson is going to call for pizza."

Ben and I sat and waited. We talked a bit, I told him about the Iraq mission, Kuwait and how I became undead. He told me how he hung onto the secret file for only a couple of weeks when a joint task investigative force blew through. He gave the file to a Kuwaiti Intelligence colonel named "sam-something."

I smiled. "Colonel Samaha, perfect."

I finished up my story with the two years with Marshal Service and now with private security Bob Simon.

"Heard of him, he's well respected. Rumors are your company is associated with a company back east that does some super-secret stuff."

I laughed, "They haven't shared that info with us. We are just run of the mill but our tech guys' rock."

Around 3 pm a large SUV came up the dirt road.

"Visitors, I count four men. Call it in Ben". I suddenly realized I had fallen back to Army mode, giving commands and Ben was the knowledgeable and reliable Sargent. Old habits. I apologized to Ben. He laughed it off.

Two men started walking from the meadow and up the hill towards us. It would take several minutes to get to us and a few more after to get over the rise and see the commotion around the cabin. The other two took something from the rear of the SUV.

"Ben, I have cable ties, we are going to capture those two and secure them to some trees out of sight of their friends."

"Yes ma'am. I have extra scarves for gags."

Whatever was taken out of the SUV required assembly, giving us time to capture the hikers. We moved to an intercept spot and waited. The two men were taken by surprise. Both Ben and I were taller and better trained. We weren't delicate and got the job done quickly and quietly. Judging from the swearing before they were gagged, I'd say our visitors were Middle East. Ben and I didn't need to speak; we knew what we were doing.

We moved off out of hearing range but still spoke Spanish to one another. "Do you want me to call this in," Ben asked.

"No way, The Village Idiot will come over the ridge and alert those other two below us. We only have a few moments before they miss seeing these two on the trail.

I resumed watching what was happening in the meadow. The assembly was nearly complete. "It's a drone with a camera. They are going to do aerial surveillance. Call your boss, tell him to get his people out of sight."

"What about our vehicles?"

I groaned.

I called Bob, "We got problems. We have two guests, Arab speaking, tied up in the trees but their two companions are about to launch a surveillance drone. HLS's vehicles are still in the entry road. Bob, I'm going to try to take out the drone before it gets too many pictures. I want everyone alive and talking, so I'm just going to disable their vehicle. Ben and I will figure out a way to have these other two join us."

When I hung up I transferred Bob's number the Ben's phone. "I suspect you'll need to talk with him."

I moved down closer to the meadow, keeping behind the rocks. When the drone motor started up I'd have but a few precious seconds to disable it. It will be one heck of a shot.

One guy was the controller; the other was watching a laptop set on the SUV hood. Which target first I wondered. At the last moment I decided the laptop was a better target and fired. The bullet tore through the screen and into the side of the computer operator. The one controlling the drone hesitated and I hit the drone with the second shot. It flew apart and I think a portion hit the man holding the controller. He grabbed his arm and ducked behind the SUV. He came back up with a rifle. I remained out of sight. The two cell phones I had removed from our tied up friends began to vibrate in my pockets. I shut them down and pulled their cards. I didn't need the GPS in them broadcasting their location.

We were at an impasse. Ben's phone vibrated, I knew who he was talking to. Finally in frustration Ben hung up and I heard "fucker." Uh Oh, Ben is going to need a new job after this.

I kept my eye on the SUV and surrounding areas. The far front door opened, the vehicle rocked as if people were getting inside. Aiming for the tires facing me, I took out the front and rear. Undeterred, the driver started the SUV and began backing away. I kept firing, this time into the engine compartment, figuring the heavier metal would deflect the bullet but hopefully ricochet into something softer and vital-an oil line maybe. When the SUVs nose presented its self to me, I added a few more rounds into the radiator, this SUV wasn't going far. It never occurred to me to try to kill the driver. Dead men don't talk and we needed to interrogate these guys.

"The other is moving," Ben called.

I was concentrating on the vehicle I didn't noticed the other guy, the rifleman was running towards the far hills. That was a bad mark on my part, keep your eye on the guy with the gun.

"Ben follow the SUV, keep hidden in case Mr. Rifle takes a bead on you. Do not let the SUV or the occupant reach the highway. We need him alive and talking. I'm going after that rifleman."

I gave the two phones from our guests to Ben and return he gave me his water bottle. "Ben, you'll need your water," I insisted.

"No, he's not going far."

Crossing an open meadow following a scoped rifle wasn't going to happen. I needed a way to get across without being seen. The only way to maintain cover was to swing far to the left into the trees. I'd lose time, but better than lose my head.

* * *

 _Ranger returns next chapter..._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 Ranger and Ben Join the Pursuit**

* * *

Bob and several other security men had dressed in camo and were preparing to drive to Walden when Carlos Manoso came through the door.

"Ranger?" Bob asked incredulously.

"Bob, I put Cathy in this mess; I need to be involved in the clean-up. Do you have extra equipment?"

"Cathy is more than competent, Ranger. You don't have to come save the day."

Ranger looked at the two Suburbans being loaded up with men and equipment, "So, you aren't worried?"

Bob shook his head, "Hell, you can join us."

Once the vehicles were packed with weapons, ammunition, food, satellite phones, batteries, clothing and other materials, the eight men began the long ride to North Park via Ft. Collins and Chambers Pass.

"How did you get here so quickly?" Bob asked Ranger.

"I was in Kansas City. Private jet. Thank you for keeping me up to date."

Bob looked at Manoso's clothes. It wasn't a business meeting in Kansas City or else he kept camo and boots on board the jet.

"What's Marc's status?" Bob inquired.

"He's safe in Miami. We are in the process of getting a non-bond on Harper, the FTA. It will be tricky unless we find something at the cabin. Stinson still in charge?"

"Thankfully somebody in Washington has brains. Stinson is out. The idiot ordered the two guys in the cabin released. One grabbed an IED disguised as a lighter and blew himself and his companion up and critically wounding an HLS.

"Stupid," Ranger muttered, "but helpful." Ranger texted Miami with news on the IEDs, deaths and injured HLS.

"Stinson is below stupid. More HLS plus FBI, ATFE on are site now plus state and local cops. Stinson was taken away, returned to Denver. Army is on its way with bomb techs. Hazardous materials people are moving in now though they have no idea what they may find. As to who is actually in charge, that's a good question; probably a pissing contest right now."

"What about the two other hostages in the trees Cathy and Ben secured?"

"They are with State Police for now. FBI will probably take them. Homeland will have to beg for their return."

"Finally, the two guys with the car?"

"The vehicle quit before it got to the main road, Carson was moving in fast when he heard gun fire. The guy in the SUV killed himself rather than be captured. Guess he won't be going to Paradise. Cathy is trailing the second. He took off west into the forest."

Ranger spoke, "We ran a check on Ben Carson. He has an impressive record. He was part of the investigation in the arms case in Iraq."

"Yeah, Cathy gave him all her research before she left with you. She was afraid somebody would destroy her work. They did. Carson had the backups hidden away. He looks solid."

It was nearing dusk when Ranger, Bob and six other Simon men were cleared through the road blocks and allowed to near the cabin area. Bob was well known in the alphabet agencies; ATFE, FBI, HLS and such, but was only lukewarmly received. The Feds weren't interested in civilians getting in the way.

"You Bob?" A larger man built like an NFL player asked. "I'm Ben Carson, initial HLS team. Major Castillo said you'd be here. HLS is being wedged out, and the other agencies are getting facts mixed. They are now wondering if Castillo isn't part of this. My position is being questioned as well."

"That's ridiculous." Bob Simon shook his head.

Carson continued, "FBI wants to form a squad to go after her and arrest her."

Bob and Ranger were near ballistic. "Who's the idiot who came up with that?" Bob demanded.

Bob cornered the FBI agent who had assumed command, "Damnit Gene, Castillo is not part of this."

"Then why did he run?"

"First of all, he is a she, former US Army Major Catherine Castillo. She worked for me in the US Marshals and is now with me in Denver.

"A woman?"

"Yeah, a US Army, West Point graduate woman." Bob introduced Manoso. "This is Carlos Manoso, former Special Forces Ranger who served with her in Iraq. He owns Rangeman Security, the initial contact on this…fiasco. The cabin owner is an FTA out of their Miami office, we just helped."

Ranger spoke, "Gene, as Bob said, I served with her on the ground in Iraq. I know how she thinks, how she moves. Send me out with one other and we'll bring her and the fugitive back."

Ben approached the FBI man, "Sir, I'm Ben Carson, HLS initial team. I served with Castillo in Army Intel. It was her work that brought down a major arms smuggling operation. She won't give up until she brings back the fugitive. I was with her up there, in the rocks, when she took down the drone and disabled the vehicle. She could have killed both men but spared them to interview them. It's the way she was trained. I'd like to go with Mr. Manoso.

"So, she's not running?" Gene asked.

"Hell no Gene, she's pursuing. It's how she was trained," Bob replied forcibly.

All three looked at FBI Gene, "It's your ass on the line, Bob. Get rest, gear, supplies and head out first light. Not much you can do in the dark now. Keep in contact; take extra batteries for your cells. Do you have a satellite phone? Not many cell towers around out there."

While Gene was talking, Bob received a text. It was Cathy reporting in. "She's about 5 miles in, west, settling down for the night. You still think she's a threat?"

"May I have your phone Bob," Ranger asked. Taking the phone Ranger sent her the number in Trenton for check-ins and positioning. He finished by telling her he and Ben were coming. He received a 10-4/1 bar. She was nearly out of range.

Ranger returned Bob's phone, after first getting Cathy's number. "We have advanced tracking and GPS. If she can send a message, we'll know where she is instantly."

FBI Gene grunted, "Probably some super-secret spy stuff..." and walked off to join the official pissing contest with the alphabet agencies.

Bob turned to Ranger, "Is it super-secret spy stuff?"

Ranger nodded. Doing covert missions for the government gave Rangeman access to items not available to civilian or most government agencies. Ben smiled, he was right.

For as long as Cathy could get a signal out, Rangeman Trenton would locate immediately and relay info to Ranger and Bob. Otherwise Ranger would track and relay his position out via satellite phone. For the time, the alphabet agencies were more interested on the site in Walden and not the pursuit.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 Three in Pursuit**

* * *

I found a secure, if not comfortable site, for the night. I picked up the fugitive's trail about 2 miles in but lost precious time by avoiding the meadow.

I was moving at first light. Knowing Ranger and Ben would come through the meadow meant they could catch me if I waited for them. Both probably had a good hearty meal and could just double time it. But I wasn't waiting for them. This was nearly rainy season when afternoon showers were common, foot prints could disappear. As it is, I'd have to mark trail for Ben and Manoso.

The fugitive had switched from moving westward which would have eventually taken him to the area around Steamboat Springs. He was now moving northwest down into a drainage to find water. Initially I found blood; perhaps from where the drone parts cut into his arm. The blood trail had stopped.

He was running, like a cross country runner. I found several places where he stopped to check back, several places where he was unsure which direction to take, but mostly he was in an even run. I ran track at West Point but this guy was far above me in ability. Plus I had to stop and mark trail. I was hard pressed to keep up let alone over take.

Ben and Ranger moved quickly and easily. Ben reminded Ranger of Tank, big but surprisingly agile and in excellent condition. He didn't speak, but watched for trail signs. He caught a few Ranger missed.

The two stopped for water. Ben began to speak, "How did you serve with her in Iraq? I don't remember you."

Ranger thought about not telling Ben, but went ahead, "She and I were involved in the arms mess. I was to go with her up north to talk to a tribal chieftain who was coming in from Afghanistan."

"What happened?"

"Someone set us up; dropped us down in the desert down south. We got as far the Kuwait border. Fire fight with raiders. I was buried in a rock fall; she got too close to an RPG. Kuwaitis told us each other had died."

"They told us she died when her transport exploded," Ben offered.

"Did they say where?"

"No, they didn't. They just said some time after takeoff."

"Kuwaitis were trying to keep her alive as they knew about the arms mess and didn't trust the US Army. She needed to testify."

I told her I gave her records to a Kuwaiti Intel officer. She seemed pleased."

Ranger said nothing.

"She must not have been badly hurt to be out on this trail."

"She was a patient for 9 months, I've seen some of the scars. She was badly hurt, but she has…..grit."

Ben already knew that, but suspected she had more than Manoso realized.

I came to the bottom of the drainage and found where the fugitive had paused to drink. I shuddered, "If I don't stop him giardiasis will." There was no telling what microbes were living in that small seep. Speaking of water, I'd need to find a source myself and soon, but I was hoping to find a spring.

The fugitive stayed in the drainage for a while. Common sense would say continuing downhill, eventually you'll come to something bigger and maybe a town or settlement. No, our boy needed to see where he was going and went back up hill. When I got to the top, I stopped to check my phone. I had one bar and quickly sent a signal to Rangeman. As soon as they sent me a confirmation, I switched the phone off. Night was coming and I needed to find someplace secure. It was the second night on the trail, 6th night on this mission.

Early the next morning I was again moving and I realized I was gaining on Mr. Fleet Feet, my nickname for the fugitive. He was getting tired, maybe his wound, maybe lack of water and food. About half way down the hill I heard a truck. There was a road ahead. I could not let the fugitive get to the road and flag down a ride.

As I broke from the trees high on a cut bank, the fugitive was in the middle of a dirt road down below, rifle raised at an oncoming timber truck. The driver started breaking. There was no time, I raised my rifle and fired, hitting the fugitive's rifle knocking it out of his hands. He spun around and glared at me then spun around facing the truck he pulled a handgun from his back. The driver was no longer slowing; he was accelerating. At the last minute the fugitive had to decide if he was going to fire or get out of the way of the truck. He chose to move, firing at the truck as it passed just inches from him.

Moving down the cut back as the truck passed me I gave a "keep moving" sign used by Army MPs and then saluted as the truck passed. The trucker pulled the cord on his horn as he passed.

I kept my eye on the truck it to see if the fugitive had jumped aboard, apparently not. That was confirmed when a bullet slammed into the ground about ten feet from me and shortly after the sound of a hand gun firing. I raised my rifle and fired where I thought he might be as he headed into the forest again. If successful, it would have been a miraculous shot. I was settling for pissing him off.

Carefully moving down the road side, I kept close to the timber for safety but also looked for the rifle near the road. I was relived to find it with the stock broken and firing mechanism jammed. "Good shot, too bad I was aiming for his chest," I chastised myself. On a hunch I pulled out the cell phone and had one bar, time to call Trenton again.

"Tank, we've got another message from Colorado. Castillo is on a logging road NW of prior location," said the Rangeman in Trenton monitoring the phone and GPS information.

Tank was on the phone to Bob in Colorado who immediately sent his men to the location. Ranger's satellite phone vibrated. It was Trenton informing him of Cathy's new coordinates. Bob's team arrived first and positioned themselves up and down the logging road looking for boot prints and watching for the fugitive or Cathy to cross. Several wanted to take up the pursuit but were told to stand down. Ranger and Ben arrived about 40 minutes later, water and food were waiting.

"Ranger, look," Ben said pointing to a trail mark on a tree. Nobody else had noticed it.

They investigated and found the broken rifle.

"It's not her's." Ben said with relief.

Ranger examined the rifle, "Heck of a shot." He had been in the gun battle with her in Kuwait and remembered her taking out a dune buggy at some absurd distance so really wasn't surprised.

About 30 minutes later the timber truck driver encountered a road block on the main highway and had an amazing story about nearly being hijacked but an Army MP shot the rifle from the hijacker's hands. The cops thought it a fairy tale. Bob talked to him," Tell me about the attempted hijacking."

"I was coming up steep grade and suddenly a man step out with a scoped rifle into the middle of the road and pointed it at me. I start slowing down. Hate to do that on a grade that steep. Suddenly the rifle flew from his hands; he spun around to look at someone then turned around and pulled a .45 from behind his back. By then I was not going to slow down, I was gonna squash him. He jumped aside and I kept going. I was looking in my mirrors to see if he jumped on the trailer when I noticed someone in camo moving down a cut bank. As I passed he gave me the 'keeping going signal' used by MPs...I was in the motor division in the Army. Figured he was an MP so tooted my horn thanking him for saving my life."

Mr. Fleet Feet turned north. Rangeman had indicated there was nothing for the next 60 miles but national forest and logging roads. Suddenly I heard a gunshot ahead. I dare not rush least it be a trap. The body of a badger lay partially cut up. "Wonder if badger is halal?" I figured it wasn't. Mr. Fleet Feet and Allah will have something to discuss. Dirty water, raw badger, made me shiver in disgust. Pepto Bismol won't solve his gut problems.

Ranger and Ben happened upon the carcass about 90 minutes later. "Note the boot prints, she didn't partake of the delicacy," Ranger said.

"What is she eating?" Ben asked.

"Probably nothing. She can go several days at this pace as long as she has water." Taking out his satellite phone he contacted Trenton.

"Talk" Tank answered.

"What's up ahead? Any obvious destination?"

"She asked same question. Nothing, just forest roads and a few cattle ranches. If he's looking for a major highway he's headed the wrong direction. At his rate and direction he'll hit Interstate 80 in 60 to 70 miles. Only guess is he's looking for a vehicle to steal."

As the trail dropped in elevation I caught sight of a change in vegetation. There must be a spring or creek nearby. The fugitive was in the area. I found human vomit; the badger meat didn't last long. The vomit wasn't fresh but recent. I did a brief survey and found a spring and foot prints. The fugitive had been here, but moved on. Darkness was falling, I retreated and found an area to bed down….again. I was hungry and ready for this to end.

The next morning at sunrise I moved out of my shelter and went to the spring and began filling my water bottles. I set my rifle against a rock near my foot and was leaning towards the spring when something jumped onto my back. At first I thought it was the fugitive until I heard the low growl and felt the claws grab my back and shoulders. A cougar weighing about 70 pounds had thrown me into the rock wall. If it had attacked from the side, I'd be the ground and in a whole lot of trouble. The hot breath blew across my face as the animal tried to bit my head and neck. I kept my head tilted and let him gnaw on my helmet as I wondered of a mountain lion could crush a Kevlar helmet.

The animal had his claws in my right upper arm preventing me from grabbing my handgun but I could get to my KBar knife with my left hand. Somehow I'd have to get enough leverage to stab the animal. The rock face in front of me might help. I smashed my side against the wall forcing the animal more around one side and reaching back I was able to find the animal's inner rear leg. I slashed. Blood sprung forth from a cut artery, but the animal still was clawing and wanting my neck.

My next move was to stab the knife into the cat's abdomen sinking the blade up to my hand. With all my strength I slashed the blade sideways back and forth. But my arm was still bent at an odd angle so my slashes were not long,. I hoped I was getting something important. We both were weakening quickly. We fell together and rolled. With quickly fading energy I found myself face to face with the animal. My right hand I held the cat's head up and I pulled the blade in the gut back the other way. Perhaps not realizing the full extent of its injuries but knowing defeat the animal disengaged and began crawling away leaving copious quantities of blood behind. I was sick; sick with adrenaline wearing down, sick with fear, and sick I had to injure or kill such a lovely animal. It was a younger cat; I doubted I could have handled a full grown male. I started heaving but with an empty stomach they were dry heaves.

As the adrenaline wore off, fatigue set in. I crawled over the rocks to get back to my rifle and water bottles. The nearby stream provided a place to wash my wounds. I rolled in. The water was freezing cold. The shock was what I needed to stay conscious. Warm water would have been my undoing. My jacket and pants were in shreds, my undergarments were being field tested for its ability to resist tears and still keep the body warm or cool. It was torn and blood oozed from underneath; apparently it wasn't cougar proof. I pushed back the pain, I still had a fugitive to capture.

Ranger and Ben came upon the gruesome scene less than an hour later. There was blood everywhere; from the spring to the ground near a drop off. Ranger found a section of intestine.

"Damn" was all he could say.

Ben came over, "It may not be her's. He slit open the intestine section, "This isn't empty, I don't think she's been eating rabbit including the bones."

Silently they searched for a body, human or mountain lion. Ben found the place where something had gone over the cliff and called over Ranger. They found no other tracks leaving the killing field and thought perhaps Cathy and the cat went over together. Ranger turned towards the spring and noted blood smears facing him as if someone had crawled back to the spring. They followed the stream. After 20 yards they found a hand and boot print from where I left the water after washing off.

"Thank God" was Ben's only comment.

Ranger shook his head, "Exhaustion, hypothermia from the stream, no food, cougar and she keeps going."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 Jack Stinson Returns**

* * *

The older rancher and his son stood behind several Ponderosa pine trees watching the man trying to steal their pick up. Their horses were out of sight in the trees; their pick up and horse trailer were 75 yards ahead.

"Think he's armed?" the older man asked the younger.

"Yes, sir, he's got a .45 on his back," I said in my disguised lower voice as I stepped up behind the two men.

They turned and probably thought I was an aberration from hell. Fresh and dried blood decorated my shredded camo jacket and pants. An M16 rifle with a scope was slung over my left shoulder, a Glock on my hip, a Kbar from my waist, head covered with a gouged helmet, face and neck obscured behind the balaclava. I must have smelled wonderful.

"Who are you?" the older man asked.

"Bond enforcement Denver. Name is Castillo, sir." I was keeping my voice low and quiet mostly out of exhaustion.

"He yours?"

"We got our FTA, this is extra. Homeland would like to talk to him," I answered.

"Explain?" The older man asked.

I thought that a funny response. Maybe this guy had been in the service.

"Sirs, I have reason to believe he may be a terrorist. I came across his two associates in a cabin outside of Walden with the FTA. The cabin and site had advanced security features. I suspect it is a weapon's bunker. Four of their buddies showed up later. This one has evaded capture. One thing for sure, he's probably some country's star cross country runner; he's a jack rabbit. This is my fourth day on his trail."

The younger man looked at me, "I take it he didn't do this to you."

"There's one less mountain lion to bother your cattle." Looking towards the truck I asked, "Why isn't the truck moving?"

"We have extra anti-theft devices. It looks like he's found and disabled two of them. He still has three more to go. We were just discussing if we ought to confront him."

"Let me. It's time to stop this guy." Handing my M16 to the older man, "Can you use this?"

He shook his head yes. "If I mess up, shoot him. Homeland can interview his corpse."

"You said you were bond enforcement. Who do you work for?" Asked the older man.

"Bob Simon Security, Denver, Sir." Taking out my cell phone and handing it to him, "You can call him to come get me or my body. This ends here." I hoped I still had battery power on the phone.

As I moved away I did not hear the older one say to his son, "He moves like Special Forces."

His son corrected, "SHE moves like Special Forces."

I slipped down into the stream and followed the bank up to the truck. The fugitive was busy trying to disable the other anti-theft devices and didn't hear or see me. He looked desperate but also exhausted. As he sat in the front seat, I snuck up and grabbed his arm, pulling him from the truck. Neither of us had much strength left but he hadn't gone 10 rounds with a cougar earlier. I found his gun and relived him of it while he was going after mine. A chop to his left arm ended that but my Glock fell to the ground. He swung and kicked; I nailed his knee and sent him to the ground. He would not be running cross country anymore.

I had his right hand and was pulling it behind as I searched for the knife he used to cut up the badger. He reached into his jacket with this left hand and pulled out what looked like a lighter. I immediately recognized it as identical to several that were on the table in the cabin in Walden...but they weren't lighters. They weren't fobs. I knocked it from his hand and pulled him back and was going to cover him when the world exploded.

I was face down with the fugitive on top of me screaming to Allah, I think. My hearing was more white noise than recognizable sounds.

The fugitive was lifted from me and laid onto the ground. The younger man began tending him. The older man's mouth was moving but I heard nothing. I shook my head no, I couldn't hear him. He seemed to understand.

After a few minutes my world synchronized and I could think again. I saw my Glock and M16 beside the truck along with a Colt belonging to the fugitive. I staggered to my feet and went to retrieve my weapons. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement in the distance, "We've got company," I muttered. Slipping between the truck and horse trailer I watched the two men approach.

I could barely raise my rifle to look through the scope, I was exhausted. They each had rifles slung on their shoulders and side arms on their legs. They couldn't see me. Eventually I could make out Ben Carson. The other must be Carlos Manoso. I wanted to weep in relief, but was just too tired and my head was killing me, but then so was everything else.

As Ben and Ranger crossed the stream and walked up the road towards the older man, Ranger calmly greeted him, "Good morning, sir."

The old rancher nodded and noting their camouflage and rifles, "You aren't hunters, it's not season."

"No sir," replied Ranger. I'm Carlos Manoso from Bob Simon and Rangeman Securities; this is Ben Carson, Department Homeland Security. We are tracking two individuals from North Park."

"That's a long away away," the rancher said.

"Yes sir," Ranger answered.

Ben chimed in, "Judging from the clothing on that one being tended, that's one of them. How badly is he hurt?"

"Small explosive device he set off himself. Face and chest wounds. My son is a doctor, doing what he can."

Ben and Ranger remembered FBI Gene explaining how Stinson had allowed the two detainees lose only to have the "lighter" IED blow up killing both men and wounding an HLS.

"We are also following a second individual who was tracking this one," Ranger added.

The rancher smiled, "I'd say she is tracking you now" and nodded toward me. I was 20 feet behind Ranger and Ben, rifle cradled in my arms.

They swung around and stared. I had moved around behind them unseen as they approached the rancher. Going undetected was a small coup; Ranger was the one who had enhanced my stealth abilities years ago in Iraq.

"Jesus Christ, you look like hell," Carson gasped.

"Sargent, the name is Castillo, Major Catherine," I smirked. Ranger took my rifle and Glock. Guess he thought I was about to drop them. He was right.

"We weren't sure the cougar didn't get you." He said quietly.

"She nearly did," I whispered.

The rancher had my cell phone in his hand. "Bob Simon wants to talk to the Catherine or you Mr. Manoso." I shook my head, I couldn't talk.

Ranger took the phone and began talking quietly. Ben walked up to me and removed my helmet and balaclava underneath. The cloth was held tight by dried blood to my neck. "I'm not going to rip it off, Major, I'll cut it away. Do you want to sit?" He was holding my arm.

"Hell no, "I answered, "I've got shrapnel in my ass." I saw the rancher and immediately said, "Sorry sir, my language."

The rancher smiled, "I'm quite used to swearing Major Castillo. I'm in service, I'm General Clark Gleason."

I tried to stand straighter, but failed, so could only utter, "Sir." I knew the name, Gleason had been commander of Ft. Carson Army Base outside of Colorado Springs before earring a star and moving on.

Ranger shut off my phone and extended his hand to the general, "General Gleason, Carlos Manoso, and former Ranger."

Ben extended his hand, "Ben Carson, former Army Intel."

"Sir, I'm Catherine Castillo, former Intel," I felt obligated to identify myself properly. How unfortunate for our potential Middle East terrorist ended his run on a US Army General's ranch.

Ranger cut in, "There's med evac is on its way for your fugitive and you, Cathy. Bob is on his way by car for us. That is if the general can put up with us for a while."

The doctor, Jack Gleason, came over to me, "What's this about shrapnel." He walked around to my back and gently pulled the fabric at the tears. "Let's go over to the truck where you can hold onto something." Good idea I thought, before I fall on my face.

I leaned against the truck and my pants were dropped. The under garment was stuck to the cougar claw marks and pulling the fabric reopened the wounds. My bloody ass and Kuwait scars were visible for all to see…and I didn't give a hoot.

After removing the most obvious metal chards from my buttocks, the doctor used butterfly bandages to hold the larger wounds closed. "I don't have the supplies to get all the shards out nor enough butterfly bandages. Its gauze and tape until you get medical attention, soon I hope. Now I need to get back to my other patient, if he's still alive. "

"Major, you need to lie down," Carson said.

"Before I fall down? A blanket materialized from the horse trailer and with Ben's help, I slowly lowered myself down the ground.

Manoso sat down beside me and offered me water and a bit dried fruit.

"Being around you, Cathy, is never dull; Iraq, West Virginia hills, Rocky Mountains, what next Water World?"

"What are you doing here Manoso?"

"Cleanng up my mess. I was the one who sent Marc to you," he said somewhat apologetically.

"Thanks loads, my body thanks you. I can rightfully say, Manoso you are a pain in my ass."

He smirked, "Yeah, I've been accused of that before."

I growled which only made him smile wider.

"You never cease to amaze me. Iraq, West Virginia, now here; I've never thought women could be part of an elite fighting force, but being with you has changed my mind. Darn shame they didn't allow women in Special Forces back then. You would have kicked butt."

I winced at the mention of butt, mine was killing me. There was not one position on the blanket that didn't hurt like the devil.

"The general has been watching you. From is expression, he's probably wondering how he can get you back in service," Ranger continued.

"Shoot him, Manoso. My run in with Mr. Homeland back in Walden reminded me I'm very happy not having to answer to government idiots."

"If you ever want to leave Bob, you have a job in Trenton."

"It would be closer to Fernando, but remember, I've got money in the Denver office. Plus I'm not sure I'm ready to be around Santos again soon."

Ranger chuckled. He continued, "I've got Tank as second in command, Bob has you. We are very fortunate." He sat quietly for a while, "So you and my uncle still got the hots for each other?"

Oh please tell me he's not entertaining THOSE thoughts again! Especially with my shredded ass just recently exposed. "Do you know how much you and he are alike? But Carlos, Fernando has something you don't, a zest for life. Each time I meet you, I see someone who is eating himself alive. You seem to have a death wish, you are just marking time waiting for the bullet."

He looked at me and finally said, "Who is sitting here shredded by a cougar?"

I just looked at him, read those lovely chocolate brown eyes. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You are still under contract. If you don't give up your missions you'll find that bullet, most likely self-inflicted. Mercenary work is a parasite and it will kill you. There is a life beyond but you have to want it."

I don't know what you are talking about.

You can't con Intel Manoso. You were to be Almarta's assassin, that's not something done by just anybody. It's a dirty, nasty specialized action. I knew about your group, just not member names. Heck, I probably sent some business your way. And remember, according to you I have well developed 6th sense.

He stared into space. He wasn't completely lost. He was operating a successful security business and I suspected from the way he easily talked to me now, he also now had a woman in his life. He was conflicted, I could see it.

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Who?"

"The woman who has 6th sense and your heart."

"Damn, I can't hide a thing from you or Tank."

What's her name?" I asked again.

"Stephanie."

"She love you?"

"She's conflicted but I know she does."

"Then show her how you feel."

"I've made enemies…"

"Yeah, probably despots and cartel scum. I have enemies too after the arms debacle. Mine are probably those who slipped through the Army's grasp, Turkish Army, various Muslim sects. Life is dangerous, Manoso, but it doesn't mean you can't live."

"So why are you and Fernando not together?"

I can't live in New York after this," I said as I swept my hands across the vista; mountains peaks and meadows, clear blue sky. His work is in New York. The older I get Carlos the more I dislike crowds. I could be very happy here, alone with or without Fernando, though I'd prefer with."

He looked around but didn't say anything for a while. "This is a long way from the Hamptons, Catherine."

"Yeah, isn't it great?" I was my turn to be quiet for a while. Finally I said, "Man up, tell her. Your karma will take a giant step forward if you give yourself to another."

With that I put my head down onto the blanket and immediately fell asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 Jack Stinson's End**

Sorry, last chapter ended two paragraphs too short. Here we meet Stinson and his downfall.

* * *

The helicopter's beating woke me up. As it circled the meadow the doctor exclaimed, "That's not a med evac."

It was HLS helicopter and Stinson was quite visible at the door.

"What the hell is Stinson doing here?" Ben asked. Ranger was already talking to Bob Simon on the cell phone.

Ranger hung up and reported, "According to Bob, Stinson was been pulled from the case and sent back to Denver. Once there he commandeered the HLS helicopter without authorization and six agents. The guy might be crazy and dangerous."

Crazy and dangerous were understatements.

The 8 man helicopter disgorged 8 men; 1 pilot, 6 armed with rifles, the eighth man was Stinson with a .45 in his hand. It reminded me of a scene with John Wayne and the movie _The Green Berets_.

"You are all under arrest. Hands up," yelled Stinson.

"I'm General Clark Gleason, you are on my ranch. Who the hell are you and what is this all about?"

"Treason, sedition, terrorism. A cache of nuclear material was found in Walden. Cortez and the terrorist have been traced here. Carson and Cortez were just too eager to get away from Walden probably knowing what I'd find. They said they were following a fugitive terrorist. More likely they were part of the plot and trying to join him. And here we find Carson and that spic Cortez on your property, general. Isn't that convenient? I'm ready to believe you are a part of this too. Are you giving aid to the enemy general?" Stinson sneered when he said "general."

Turning to Manoso, Stinson smiled, "Hello Cortez."

"The name is Manoso, Ricardo Carlos. It is not Cortez."

Not recognizing the voice, Stinson turned back to Carson and screamed, "Where the hell is Cortez? Who is this wet-back?"

The five of us remained quiet. Who was Cortez? Did he mean me, Castillo? Stinson seemed looney indeed.

We were all searched and handcuffed and stood in a row. "My son is a doctor. He's treating the fugitive over there. He shouldn't be cuffed," said General Gleason.

"No, he's a part of this," Stinson shot back.

"If you want your suspect alive, you'll need Jack's medical skills before your medical evac comes. You have ordered one up, haven't you?" The general asked.

Stinson thought a minute and then gave the command for Jack Gleason to be released. We still didn't know if medical evacuation was coming.

Ranger was next to the General. "Stallion Down has been called," Ranger said just loud enough for us to hear. We knew it meant Bob Simon had put a call to Ft. Carson and probably the Pentagon that a General was in danger. The rescue force was coming, if we lived long enough.

With Stinson's men guarding us, Stinson ranted and went up to the fugitive, "He isn't Cortez." Coming back he raised his gun to Manoso's head and said, "Where is Cortez you damn spic."

I spoke up, "The name is Castillo, not Cortez and not Mr. Tijuana." Stinson came up to me. "Who the hell are you, chicka?' he asked "And what happened to you?"

OK, time for some confusion to buy time for the Army to arrive. I hope they are fast. "My name is Major Catherine Castillo, US Army Intel and I gave him my ID number. I doubted he cared. My partner and I have been tracking a group of Middle East terrorists from Mosul to the US. We put out a special notice to HLS to watch for them, but they got by your ID checks at not one but three different US airports. What the hell are you guys doing, sleeping on the job? We tracked them to Colorado and called for support. Sure glad you guys finally got off your butts and caught up."

He blinked trying to process the baloney.

I proceeded with another cock and bull story about arms dealing; radical cells groups in the Rocky Mountain area, giving the Army rescue team time. At least I hoped it was a cock and bull story. The more I talked the more it sounded very plausible. One thing for certain, I was leaving Marc Manoso's name out of this.

"Ben Carson served with me in Army Intel. When you pulled up, I knew he spoke Spanish and would not blow my cover until all terrorists were captured. I expected Homeland to show up with more than 5 agents or at least ones better supervised. When you arrived I had terrorist number 1 and 2 secured in the cabin. I turned them over to you, remember? Ben and I secured 3 and 4 on the back approach to the cabin.

Since you have been relieved and HLS eased out, I assume 3 and 4 aren't still tied to the trees but with the FBI or some organization that knows it's ass from its head."

"Where did you get the idea I have been relieved, chicka? I'm still in command. I am head of the Denver office." Apparently he missed the insults.

This guy is living in Twilight Zone, I thought. "OK we are down to the two guys from the SUV behind the cabin in Walden. Number 5 tried to escape with the SUV but shot himself and number 6 is over there. I'll let Army Intel, HLS, FBI, CIA, NSA, AFTE, DIA, IAEA, MI6, BND, DGSE, and Mossad sort out who gets him. My job is done." I couldn't come up with any other alphabet agencies except Russia's and China's but figured I had blown enough smoke.

His mind was trying to process the information. "Who was your partner?" I'll give him credit, he was thinking but he was way behind in the story.

"That would be me, Captain Carlos Manoso, US Army Ranger." Ranger spoke.

I silently thanked Ranger. I was running out of baloney. Marc Manoso remained unknown.

Turning to Manoso he asked, "And why again did you only speak Spanish Cortez?"

"I am not Cortez, there is no Cortez. Her name is Catherine Castillo. She explained that to you. We use Spanish as our cover as bond enforcement agents from nonspecific Spanish speaking country. Sometimes we are Columbian, sometimes Mexican, and sometimes Cuban, it doesn't matter. We couldn't let the terrorists to know we were Army Intel."

OK, the answer varied slightly from what I told Stinson, but I'm not sure he remembered.

"Yes, there is a Cortez. Who is Cortez?" He asked again.

"I am Cortez." I did not roll my eyes.

"Bull Shit," he exploded. I was getting tired of his BS explosions. "Cortez is a man."

"How do you know? Did you see his face or was it hidden behind a balaclava? Did you see his junk?"

"Are you questioning me, chicka?" His gun came up to my head.

I lowered my voice, " _Habla espanol senor federale?"_

Stinson looked like he would explode. His brain was whirling. Let's keep it turning...

I continued, "The longer I could make the Middle Easterners believe I was a Spanish speaking male the better my cover. I was hoping they'd talk amongst themselves so I could gather information. And they did. How else did I know visitors were coming to the back door?"

"They spoke Spanish?" He asked incredulously.

If my hands hadn't been secured behind my back I would have given him a Gibbs slap on the head though not a good idea when the guy has a .45 pointed at you.

"They appeared to be from the Middle East. I hoped they either spoke Arabic or Farsi, though my Farsi isn't very good."

"You understood them because you were part of the plot, bitch,"Stinson yelled. You and your partner Mariola here are not really from Columbia. I bet his name is Mohammed and you are…...

"What, don't know any Arabic names for women? Try Aisha, it was Mohammad's wife's name." I was running out of shtick, where was the Army?

"Shut up you traitorous bitch."

Oh boy, I've gone from chicka to bitch. No wonder he never made it to Washington. Besides being an idiot and jerk, his mouth needed a good washing.

Stinson continued, "You are dark enough to be Middle Eastern. For all I know that could be a suicide pack on you." Turning to Manoso he continued, " I understand the men strap suicide vests on their wives. Is that what you've done Mohammed?"

Ranger spoke up, "My name is Manoso, not Mohammed. I would never put a suicide vest on my wife."

"She's your wife?" He gasped.

I looked down at my torn and bloody clothes and laughed. "If this was a suicide vest, we'd all be dead now. These are my breasts and you are not getting a look. Your 6th terrorist is over there, he had some type of antipersonnel device on him and it exploded. It looked like a lighter. There were several in the cabin in front of the two detainees, numbers 1 and 2; perhaps you saw them too." Little did I know indeed Stinson knew what I was talking about and that was one reason he had been relieved from the case.

"Right now, Stinson, your detainee needs immediate medical help. You came 8 men in an 8 man helicopter, how are you going to transport him, us and your men back to Denver?" Manoso asked.

Sadly for the first time he thought to count his men. What in incompetent boob.

"At least get him to the hospital, you can come back for us," I said.

"Bull Shit, I'm taking you, your terrorist husband Mohammad, the traitor Carson and the injured." Great, I had just been elevated to terrorists. Let's see; chicka, bitch, suicide bomber, terrorist, my position with Stinson is getting worse.

"He'll need the doctor to travel along unless one of your men is a medic. That leaves just three seats, you and two guards." Manoso said.

"The doctor stays here, three guards."

What about the General here. Shouldn't you be taking him as well?" I asked.

"We'll take him too."

"And how many men will you have to leave behind."

Stinson was getting very agitated and confused. I was trying to remember the Abbott and Costello routine, "Who's on First" wondering if I could delay and confuse any longer.

I caught Carson's eye as he looked to the south. He mouthed "Army." I wanted to cry with relief. "OK Stinson, I'll go with you. Send your guys over to carry the injured man on board." That would separate some of the guards from Stinson.

"I'm in command here, I give the orders," Stinson barked.

"Sir, what are your orders?" I asked with what little respect I could muster.

"You bitch, in the helicopter," he sneered.

We were back to bitch, how refreshing. I could barely stand, my right arm was bleeding again, but I began walking slowly towards the HLS helicopter. I suddenly wondered if I could sit down in a wildly vibrating helicopter. I moaned.

Ranger whispered, "Major?"

I called back, " _Protege al segmental."_ (Protect the stallion) meaning protect the general.

I walked close to Stinson occasionally bumping into him, partly out of trying to distract him but also, I was having a heck of a time walking. I hoped to take him out when he went gonzo with the Army's arrival.

The Army arrived in grand style: Two HH60 Pave Hawk ships with gunners at the doors. The noise was deafening. When they set down and throttled down the engines I turned to Stinson, "It looks like the Army is trumping you, Stinson. You still plan on arresting us?"

I looked over the HLS men, "Gentlemen drop our weapons before the Army takes offense to you endangering the general."

Stinson swung to his men and screamed, "NO! Shoot them all, shoot them all" and turned back and me, raised his .45 and fired.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 New Beginning**

* * *

On any normal day I could easily kick the handgun out of his hand even with my hands secured behind my back, but I had been observing and tracking through the Rocky Mountains for a week, fought a cougar, still had shrapnel in my ass, and eaten just one power bar and a bit of dried fruit in the last...oh, who knows how many days. My kick was a little low and slow. The gun fired and I flew back several feet after taking the bullet in the chest. My foot knocked Stinson in the ribs throwing him off balance, as he pulled the trigger.

Before the HLS guys thought to raise their weapons at General Gleason, Manoso pushed the general to the ground and covered his body with his own. An Army gunner sent down a ribbon of bullets at the HLS's feet. They dropped their weapons and put their hands up. Carson with his hands still secured behind his back ran towards Stinson plowed him into the ground. Stinson stayed down.

Jack Gleason came running to me. He ripped apart what was left of my camo jacket hoping to find a ballistic vest. It was there. I had left it on when I transferred the jacket to the top for camouflage. Fired near point blank, the .45 had penetrated the vest but was slowed. The expanded slug missed the heart and major blood vessels, nicked the subclavicle artery, shredded the top of the left lung and crashed through the scapula and out the back.

"She needs to be in Denver hospital...now," yelled the doctor.

The general looked at the airship with the medic emerging with supplies, "It's yours."

When I woke up 5 days later in the Denver hospital, Bob was at my side. "Welcome back." I could barely move my eyes.

"You look like hell but you are alive. The bullet missed everything major but still did plenty of damage. Good thing one of the Army helicopters was a med evac with supplies. General Gleason said it was the least he could do for a national hero."

I thought about saying Stinson's favorite phrase, "Bull Shit" but couldn't get the words out.

You found a major weapon and explosives cache, plus enough radioactive stuff for a medium size dirty bomb. There was also a metal working shop and what some think may have been a basic biological laboratory. Add to all 6 Middle East terrorists and the American go between. I shudder to think what we'd be facing it if wasn't for you. Half of Denver might be uninhabitable."

"Marc's toys," I whispered. If it hadn't been for Marc and his gadgets we might have been killed. My brain spun; WMDs, weapons of mass destruction.

"Judging from the vaults and camouflage, there have been people working on the site for well over a year. Nobody noticed." He shook his head in dismay. "This has been a real wake up call for a lot of people. Fortunately it's being kept from the media."

I was wondering how it could be kept secret but realized there were not that many people living in the area. I didn't think cattle talked among themselves.

"General Gleason says when you recover he'd like to offer you a job back with the Army. He said something about special ops and contracts."

What the hell did that mean? Mercenary? I scrunched up my nose. I wanted to say, "Like Carlos" but thought best kept quiet. Bob didn't know about Carlos' extra activities. Bob chuckled, "Yeah I thought so." Bob turned towards the door and spoke to someone, "A few more minutes, please."

"I can't remember how much blood you've been given and many stitches it took to put you back together. The under garment company appreciates you fully testing their product," he joked. "Unfortunately it failed the cougar test." I was still groggy but couldn't remember if animal attack was mentioned in the testing criteria.

"Just a heads up, the doctors urge you to stop getting blown up or shredded. They are running out of ways to sew you back together. They are calling you quilt lady." Bob got up, squeezed my hand and said, "Take the rest of week off."

It was a joke of course. I had no use of my right arm and probably wouldn't for some time. He also knew I'd be chomping on the bit to get back to work faster than I should.

Bob was replaced by Fernando Manoso. _"Dios mio_ , my dear you are alive."

I couldn't have been more surprised. "Just barely" I squeaked back. "How, who?"

"Carlos called and said I needed to get here pronto. I've been here 4 1/2 days waiting with Bob for you to come back to us. We've been trading off sitting next to you."

I managed a smile, "You have my heart."

"But, you almost gave it to _El Gato_. My dear, I've come close to losing you several times now. You are not getting away from me anymore. "

I didn't understand what he meant, but soon would.

There was still much to be straightened out. The fugitive died before I was shot. Out of the six men, only two remained alive, the two Ben and I captured on the trail. All were later identified as major Middle Eastern terrorists. Four lived in the country having arrived on visas. There is no vetting process that can detect terrorists. Simply asking questions is ridiculous. People lie all the time. The two tied to the trees admitted they entered the US from Canada. With a four thousand mile mostly unprotected border with the US, entry is as easy as driving across.

Stinson was fired from HLS initially for gross incompetence for freeing the two suspected terrorists in the cabin allowing one to detonate the explosive devices on the table and injuring an HLS agent. In addition, he was arrested for hijacking a HLS helicopter, commandeering 7 HLS agents, kidnapping a US Army general and four civilians, and of course the attempted murder of me. I don't know if there will ever be a trial. I'm not sure he's competent...or ever was competent.

Ranger Manoso returned to Trenton. HLS wanted to talk to him but call from Washington stopped it. Whether it was General Gleason or somebody else, like his missions handler, I don't know.

Carson quit HLS even though he was offered the Denver field office. He now works for Rangeman Denver as second in command and in charge of field operations. I gladly gave up both positions to stay back in the design center.

Yes, Rangeman Denver, Bob and I agreed on the name change. Several Rangeman employees from the Trenton and Atlanta offices guys have transferred to help with our expansion and new recruits are coming in from Special Forces and Delta, SEALS, and the various military criminal investigative services, military police as well other government agencies.

We have field offices throughout the mountain communities as suddenly the mountains seem like ideal terrorists hide outs. Of course there are all the rich skiers who need their homes protected which help pays for our other work. The super-secret stuff Rangeman Trenton had is now also part of our equipment. Our guys do some other stuff that the government pays for, but I can't talk about that.

My work is now strictly security design. I have no desire to hunt down FTAs or to go around in camo anything anymore. Holding and firing a rifle or handgun still causes pain.

Marc Manoso, several security and design experts from other offices and I are working at producing our own security and detection devices. Maybe someday there will be a Rangeman Industries.

Me personally, I'm now in regular communication with my financial advisor, tango and bachata partner Fernando Manoso. We married six months after I left the hospital. He maintains an office in Denver as well as in New York.

It was during one of our periods in New York I met the woman that has captured Carlos' heart. She is a lovely, natural beauty with incredible blue eyes, white skin and curly long brown hair. This evening her hair looked a little frayed and damaged like she had been too close to a fire or explosion.

Turning to Stephanie I asked, "Care to join me?" Indicating it was women's huddle time in the ladies' room. Carlos raised an eyebrow, "I think Aunt Catherine wants to speak to you alone," he whispered in her ear.

When we excused ourselves from our men and adjourned to the Ladies Room, I reached into my purse and pulled out a small jar. Handing it to her, "I use this on my hair in Colordao to fight the intense sun and drying, let's rub some on your hair now." She looked at me like I was nuts.

"Stephanie, you have lovely curly hair, but it looks a bit fried in spots."

"My car blew up."

"Yeah, they'll it do that."

"Aren't you going to ask why it blew up?"

"No, you work with Carlos; your life is probably filled with adventure."

"You don't know half of it," she muttered.

"Someday we'll have to compare notes. I've known him since he was a 20 year old drugged-out SOB. In fact Carlos' decision to enlist was the result of Fernando threatening to kill him."

Stephanie looked at me, not quite believing what I just said.

"Carlos and I served together in Iraq. We met again when I was with US Marshals and now we are business partners. I know what he gets himself and those around him into."

"But they aren't my fault or his."

"I suspect when it comes to you, they are in part. You expect someone to save you instead of you saving yourself through training and education. That's where we vary, I take care of myself. I don't want someone else constantly looking after me. I share my life, I am not someone else's problem."

She looked at me as if I was a psychic. I expected her to storm out, instead she asked, "What did you and he do in Iraq?"

I bet she is good at distractions, I laughed to myself. "We walked a lot."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, it took up most of our time."

She was frustrated; I wasn't giving her any information on Carlos. I was sorry but only Bob and Fernando know what happened in Iraq and Kuwait.

"Ranger looks like Fernando," she said as she rubbed the cream into her hair."

"Oh yeah, you see Fernando, see Ranger in 15 years."

"I can only hope so," she sighed.

"Aren't you two an item?"

"No, not really. He's my best friend but…"

I wanted to argue with her because he looked at her with adoring eyes. "Why," I asked.

"He's not into commitment," she answered.

I rolled my eyes. "Is he still doing missions?"

She jumped. "You know about those?"

I nodded. "He's not doing them for the money, I'm sure. The idiot does them for the ego and fear he can't stop. Does he say how much time is left on the current contract?"

"No.

"Only way to get him out of them is to make him ineligible through health or mental. Want me to shoot him or otherwise disable him?"

She looked at me like I was nuts.

"There was a time that would have been easy but I'm not the shot I once was. I could take out a knee though. I'll talk to him…...again," I said. "There is another way, you know."

She looked at me confused.

"Pregnancy."

She shook her head and giggled, "He already has a daughter, Julie. She's 13 now. He gave up his parental rights to her because of his work."

"It was his work in the service. Now he's a business owner, he's not playing Rambo all the time. It might be enough to force either him or his handlers to end the contracts."

"Something to consider….."

"But what about you? Can you commit to him?"

"I don't know," she said sadly.

"Are you two waiting for the other to make a move?" I sighed.

She shook her head, "If he were more open..…"

I nodded, "Been there, done that. Took a cougar shredding me to and losing a portion of a lung to make me realize life is too short to be playing that game. You two may not be that lucky. He could end up dead…

….Or me blown to pieces. He says his life is too dangerous."

"Bull Shit." Did I just use a _Stinsonism?_ "That's absurd. You have enemies, he has enemies; does that mean you two are not entitled to happiness? Is there any less pain for the other if one of you is gone tomorrow? _Carpe diem_. Stephanie."

I stormed back to the table. "You'd better run Carlos, I recognize that look. Thankfully it is not coming for me," Fernando spoke quietly.

I scooted in next to Carlos forcing Stephanie to sit next to Fernando. Taking Carlos' hand gently I immediately put his finger into a strong lock.

He didn't flinch but I knew he was uncomfortable.

I lowered my voice, "Listen asshole, you are to quit this bull shit between you two. You do not renew. You continue watching your back, but move forward together or so help me Mister I will break both of your knees so you can't run away from her again. Do you understand?"

He nodded

"And if you dare call me Aunt Catherine again I will castrate you and pull your balls up through your nose. Understand?"

He nodded.

"Now tell her how nice her hair looks and I'll resent your dislocated finger."

"You hair looks lovely, Babe."

With that I gave his finer a full jerk, heard the pop and eased it back into place. "Sorry I didn't mean to dislocate it, I just wanted your attention."

"You got it."

I had a little first aid package in my purse and fished out the adhesive tape. "You want me to bind your fingers together or not?"

"I'll do it," he mumbled.

"Then I'll get ice and a napkin for the swelling." I signaled the waiter.

Stephanie wasn't sure what went on between Carlos and me. Fernando chuckled and turned to Stephanie, "He's never met anyone quite like her and is always under estimating her."

I stood up and was exchanging places with Stephanie when Fernando's eyes grew brighter. He was listening to the band. "My dear, they are playing our song."

He was right. It was time to tango.


End file.
